


Maybe He Is To Be Wooed

by Itsaparadox



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsaparadox/pseuds/Itsaparadox
Summary: There are precious few reasons Kiyoomi thinks it should be Miya; the reasons are painful to think about but they ring true. He repeats them like a mantra as he waits for the locker room to empty out.This will work out, he knows it will. He's got it all figured out; success rate: 100%.Well, near 100%, after all, it's an impossible statistic.("I want to sleep with you.""No.")
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 88
Kudos: 333





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of blood

There are precious few reasons Kiyoomi thinks it should be Miya; the reasons are painful to think about but they ring true. He repeats them like a mantra as he waits for the locker room to empty out.

He knows this routine. On Fridays, Miya is the last to leave. He changes into workout gear and works out an additional hour in the gym. Kiyoomi knows for a fact that Hinata tried to stay with him (“I’m not going to lose to you Atsumu san!”) but was talked out of it by their captain, given the slight ankle sprain he’d gotten in practice. Sometimes Miya jogs all the way to his apartment. Kiyoomi knows this.

He knows this because it’s important to understand all elements of your plan to relieve your sexual frustration with an experienced individual/teammate, and it’s vital in ensuring a hundred percent success rate in said plan. Though of course, hundred percent is an impossible statistic here, but close enough because of the list…the reasons.

Number one. They are friends. Kiyoomi will deny it if anyone should ask him but after rooming together, several arm wrestling tournaments (which he swears Miya cheated in), unexpected aid during public appearance mishaps and many, many practices spent together on serve receives, Kiyoomi is forced to admit that he and Miya…get along.

Number two. Miya wouldn’t make fun of him. As ruthless and conniving as he is, Miya is as selfless as they come. Kiyoomi is sure he’ll keep their shit, (their potential shit) to himself. Years of being rivals on opposite ends of the court to acquaintances at youth training camp, and finally teammates have taught him that much. Miya is selfless, and that bleeds into his volleyball. Not outright so; he’s greedy and egoistic and extremely rude, this is fact, but Kiyoomi is sure if this works out, Miya will try to accommodate him, and give him exactly what he needs. 

Number three. Miya is definitely easy. If word on the street was to be believed, he’d fucked their manager’s ex-boyfriend, and the girl he cheated on her within the same week, ("It was revenge for you, Maiko chan!") and last week Kiyoomi saw him lip locked with the lead guitarist of the band that had been playing at their after match victory party. 

This is going to work, Kiyoomi tells himself.

  
Everything seems to work out perfectly. Meian and Inunaki leave first to meet Coach Forster, then the rest of them; the last being Bokuto and Hinata, chatting animatedly among themselves. 

Kiyoomi approaches his target.

“Oh. Omi kun,” Atsumu says, glancing around the empty locker room in surprise. “Need something?”

Kiyoomi had a full blown analysis on the pros and cons of this arrangement for both of them, the mutual benefits, rules and conditions, all the little details but somehow, he’s not sure how to present them anymore. His mind remains conveniently blank. Being blunt is all he’d ever known his entire life so he counts on it one more time. However, "I want to be fuckbuddies" doesn’t sound very dignified, and in some ways “first impressions” in this particular context, feels incredibly important.

“Miya.”

Miya doesn’t so much as look up, he reaches down to tug his shoes on, biceps bulging in the black tank top he usually dons for after practice-practice.

“I want to sleep with you.”

Well. 

Miya swivels around almost comically slow, and blinks like he’s the main character in an 80’s show. It's an amusing sight to be sure. Miya looks at the floor and furrows his brow, as if expecting answers neither he nor Kiyoomi are capable of giving at the moment. _Okay, take your time_ , Kiyoomi thinks, as a bead of sweat rolls along the side of his face. God knows he needs time too.

“Uh okay.” 

Miya looks up panic stricken, “I meant not okay! As in ‘no’, I’m not saying okay to being f-fuck buddies, just wanted to start a sentence with ‘okay’-“

Oh boy. “Spit it out Miya,“ Kiyoomi says exasperatedly. Miya stares at him, and Kiyoomi watches the panic subside, and slowly slip off his face entirely. He leans down to resume tying his shoelaces, and stands up, slinging his bag up over his shoulder in one fluid motion.

“No.” he says.

Kiyoomi had been nervous. That is true. He had been nervous of messing up, of relinquishing his control, his pride, the off chance of being laughed at- a whole bunch of little things, but he had definitely never expected… rejection. _Arrogant aren’t we, Omi kun?_

“What?” he asks quietly.

“No." Atsumu repeats. “First off, I don’t fuck my teammates.” What a principled man, Kiyoomi sneers internally.

“-Second,” he pauses, and gives Kiyoomi what he can only assume to be, a forcibly smug once over,“ You’re not my type.”

“Excuse me?” Kiyoomi asks, trying to maintain his poker face. Not your type? He screams internally. Last I checked you didn’t have a type. 

“Well you’re certainly doing a great job at persuading me, that’s for sure,” Miya mutters, and he realizes he’d said it out loud.

“Well it’s true,” Kiyoomi says defensively. 

“See here's the thing Omi kun, usually, I adapt to people. Or they adapt to me. I don’t think you’re capable of it, and I certainly don’t think you can handle me.” It's sad. Kiyoomi thinks, that he had believed in what little good he thought to be in Miya, but was obviously not being shown the same faith. 

“Oh shut up Miya,” Kiyoomi says trying to sound bored. “If you don’t want to, that’s that. I’m leaving.”

A very quick flash of panic crosses his eyes, it might've been a trick of light...

“Hope I didn't hurt your feelings,” Miya calls behind him. “It’s not about you.”

Kiyoomi whirls around incredulous. “You literally just said I wouldn’t be able to handle you. Are you dumb?”

Miya opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, and Kiyoomi thinks, that’s exactly it. Miya is dumb. Maybe that’s why he wanted to do this in the first place. He’d hoped Miya would skip over the stupidity of it all.

“Maybe you’re scared,” Kiyoomi sneers. It’s a pathetic attempt, there’s no salvaging his dignity, this little act of desperation is more than enough proof-

“Scared of your virginal little ass?” Miya snaps rising to the bait. Ah. What a child.

“I’m not a virgin.” Kiyoomi retorts huffily.

Miya’s eyebrows rise. 

“Then why do you need me to-“

“Why would I want my first time to be with you, you’re just a bumbling idiot at this point.”

“Oh rebound sex, perfect,” Miya taunts.

“Look,” Kiyoomi says sighing. “I just- wanted to try being without-“ he pauses, pouring all his exasperation into a single exhale. “I just wanted to try feeling, without the complications of-feelings.”

“Poetic. And you want me for that?”

“Less and less, with each passing second.”

There’s a second where they contemplate each other, and then Miya cracks a smile. 

“Listen. I just- I don’t know if you’ll be okay with me alright? I talk during sex-“

“I’m not surprised,” Kiyoomi mutters.

“-and I don’t cuddle afterwards-“

“-fine by me-”

“-and I have limitations.”

“Me too,” Kiyoomi says simply. “Want to work it out?”

Miya cocks his head to the side, bangs covering his eyes, and taps his nose slowly, apparently deep in thought.

“So no strings attached? I can fuck other people if I feel like it, and if either of us thinks it won’t work-“

“-We call it off.” Kiyoomi confirms. “Oh, also I’d rather you not fuck anyone right before you come to me.” This is the most they’ve said the word “fuck” Kiyoomi notes, and neither of them seem too affected either. Good. 

"What happened to 'no fucking your teammates'?" He can't help but add.

"Eh, it was a dumb rule anyway," Miya says dismissively. What a principled man.

Miya straightens up and Kiyoomi follows the motion with his eyes, watches him drop his bag near the bench and then stride towards him. The move is unexpected, and Kiyoomi stiffens and stumbles, as Miya traps him against the door of his locker. 

“So you okay with this?” Miya murmurs, his warm breath hitting Kiyoomi’s face. The blond’s shampoo…is intoxicating. A blend of peppermint and…what?

“Is it? I’ve no clue,” Atsumu murmurs leaning in, and Kiyoomi realizes he’s said it out loud. Their noses bump against each other, and the door- it’s wide open…literally anybody could come in. But somehow, Kiyoomi can’t move; he’s frozen in a reality where Miya Atsumu’s lips are glistening invitingly and are fully _available_ should he develop the mental capacity to shake himself out of his reverie and press his lips against them. There’s almost no space between them, and yet somehow Miya manages to move even closer, and still their lips hover, not touching but parted and very much ready.

There is an imbalance here, Kiyoomi is cornered, _this is not right,_ a very quiet part of him mumbles childishly. He watches Miya’s pupils dilate, and realizes, maybe two can play this game.

Kiyoomi hooks an arm against his neck and pulls, watching Miya’s eyes widen, but his lips meet not Kiyoomi’s own, but the cleft of his palm. Against the back of his hand, Kiyoomi whispers,

  
“See you tomorrow Miya.”

  
And pushes him off, causing him to stumble and fall on his rear. That can’t be comfortable, Kiyoomi thinks moving towards the door. But turning around to help would definitely defeat the purpose of this very slight power play. Or rather, _extreme_ resistance on his part because Miya smells…impossibly good.

“Asshole,” he hears Miya snap, and Kiyoomi turns around smirking, about to flip him off when he remembers.

“You lied,” he says casually.

“Wha-“ Miya looks at him in confusion, and then understanding washes his features.  
“Oh,” he says, grin returning. “Peppermint and rosemary.”

  
Victory doesn’t last long though. The next day, Kiyoomi chokes unceremoniously on a homemade, carefully prepped and wrapped bacon sandwich. 

“Hmm, I wonder how pretty you’d look, choking on cock,” Miya murmurs amused, irises flashing in apparent mirth.

Kiyoomi sputters and coughs, prompting Miya to pass him his water bottle, but not before leaning into his space and whispering, “when I said I talk Omi kun…”

“Tonight,” Kiyoomi texts.  
“Alright.” Comes the reply.

“I’m topping,” Kiyoomi declares the moment Miya enters through the door.

Miya raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms.

“I don't really care either way, but somehow today,” he drops his bag on the floor, “I don’t want to.”

Kiyoomi grits his teeth. Impossible man.

“You melt like putty,” Atsumu says grinning. “You won’t last two seconds in my ass.” he jokes. 

Kiyoomi throws his slipper at him.

  
“So what was your ex like?” Atsumu asks sitting on his couch like he belongs there. 

“Nothing. It’s none of your business.”

“Why did you break up?”

“Miya,” Kiyoomi warns.

“How was he at sex?” Miya asks clearly enjoying being rebellious.

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. 

The truth isn’t hurtful- it’s humiliating.

“He wasn’t very good,” Kiyoomi says uncomfortably, and his tone makes Miya sit a little straighter.

“How so?” he doesn't sound mean, simply curious, so Kiyoomi decides to indulge him. 

“He’s never made me-“ Kiyoomi glances at Miya, a little distressed, “he’s never made me cum.”

There’s a silence as the words settle, and Kiyoomi wants to disappear. 

“We only had sex once,” Kiyoomi hastens to confirm, “it didn’t work out, and we agreed we just weren’t- compatible.”

This is Miya’s fault. Miya made him uncomfortable in his own home, he should just-

But Miya isn’t looking at him with mirth in his eyes. Miya looks…annoyed.

“What.” He says flatly.

“It’s not like how you think, he’s made me cum just not with, you know. There have been some hand jobs that, helped-” Kiyoomi says. There’s sweat rolling down his brow, he feels stifled. 

“He probably didn’t know how? He tried but, it was too rough, or when he’d blow me, there was too much teeth-“

“But that’s what experience is for!” Miya exclaims. “No one starts out good at sex, you just need to understand…what feels good and what doesn’t, you need to tell him!”

“Well we did it only once but when he fucked me, I bled. Amd he freaked the fuck out,” Kiyoomi says flatly. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. “After that, we didn’t, I was his first guy, and he didn’t want to try again.” His ex-boyfriend had given up after one failed attempt at sex, had justified it saying, “maybe I am straight after all.” He didn’t really mind. Dating had been more trial and error than anything, and they’d broken it off before either of them caught feelings. Kiyoomi had been teetering on the verge of feelings though, and their title had certainly been official. Kiyoomi’d been dumped, but he’d also been genuinely relieved; relationships were stressful, so it wasn’t much of a negative. Anniversaries, family introductions, cousin interventions...no strings attached was the way to go.

“How long did you date him?”

“Around a month.”

“No sex for a month?” Miya sounds faint. “Then you fuck and break up?”

“Some of us can make do without sex Miya,” Kiyoomi snaps.

“Ah yes, that’s why I’m here.” Miya retorts, and that drags him back to the present.

“Come here,” Miya says patting the space beside him. Kiyoomi wants to refuse, but it feels too petty, so he reluctantly makes his way and sits down.

“Rule number 1,” Miya says, reaching out to tuck a curl behind his ear, “call me Atsumu. Not Miya.”

“No pity,” Kiyoomi warns, his cheek stinging with the trace of Miya’s, no, Atsumu’s fingertips.

“I never did,” Atsumu says simply, “but we’ll make that rule number 2.” 

He leans back on his hands and stares at the ceiling.

“I’m serious though Omi kun, the second you call me Miya-“ he turns to looks at Kiyoomi, and suddenly the look in his eyes, is nothing short of predatory, “-I’ll stop”

Kiyoomi gulps. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth for some reason.

“Relax,” Atsumu murmurs against the column of his throat. “I know I’m hella awkward at, well, everything other than volleyball, but I do know my way around a man’s body.”

“That’s reassuring,” Kiyoomi grunts out as Atsumu’s hand travels over the span of his abdomen, languidly touching him over his clothes. They're on Kiyoomi's bed, he isn't entirely comfortable with having his room _breached_ by one Miya Atsumu, but Atsumu had looked at his pentathlon trophies with wide eyed wonder and he hadn't been able to resist the urge to brag and show him all his other medallions, safely stowed in his room. But a bed can do wonders to the motivation of two suddenly horny individuals and ending up on Kiyoomi's soft duvet is nothing but inevitable.  
  
“You gotta trust me here man,” Atsumu snorts out, slipping his hand under Kiyoomi’s shirt.

“Man?” Kiyoomi grits out, clenching his eyes shut, “you’re about to ram your dick up my ass and y-you call me “man”?” 

Atsumu’s hand stops immediately.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks incredulously.

“What is wrong with you?” Kiyoomi groans rubbing his palms over his eyes, “what did you think I called you here for? Bedtime stories ?”

“No-I- ah it’s nothing,” Atsumu says with a little laugh. “I didn’t expect- today, you know.” He looks at Kiyoomi, and if Kiyoomi is honest with himself, he’ll admit that Atsumu looks good like this. With mussed up hair, and kiss swollen lips, and a smirk on his face, in between Kiyoomi’s le-

But Kiyoomi isn’t honest, so he’ll say the sweat glistening on Atsumu’s tanned skin is disgusting, and his resemblance to a puppy is misleading because dogs don't sweat all over.

"Well not today," Miya says, eyes raking over his body. "I have a family dinner in less than two hours."

"Okay," Kiyoomi agrees. Today is only for the sake of gauging compatibility, he convinces himself. He's definitely not disappointed.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?” Atsumu asks. There’s a smile in his voice, Kiyoomi can tell.

“If that’ll shut you up,” Kiyoomi replies, hoping Atsumu doesn’t notice his shaking hands.

Atsumu doesn’t reply, and the silence makes Kiyoomi open his eyes only to realize that Atsumu’s face is far closer than he’d thought. 

“Wha-“

Soft lips seal his mouth shut, and then pries it open, as a warm tongue makes it's way through. Kiyoomi isn’t sure if he’s doing it right, he’s not sure of anything anymore, because this-this is different. Atsumu’s hand rubs small circles on his hips, and his tongue mimics the movement, around and around, licking into his mouth. There’s a soft whimper accompanying every single push of his tongue, and it takes Kiyoomi a second to realize, the sound is coming from himself. The second he realizes, he pushes Atsumu away. Atsumu’s eyes open dazedly, and he wipes Kiyoomi’s spit off his lips on the back of his hand. It doesn’t work. His lips glint lewdly. 

“Too much?” Atsumu asks. “We can take it slow-“

“Suck my cock,” Kiyoomi blurts out, because it seems like the safer option at the moment, though technically anything that involved teeth near his cock…wasn’t a safe option.. “Whore.” He adds as an afterthought. 

Atsumu leans back on his knees, and considers him.

“Wow. You’re bad at this,” he says.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi snaps. He wants to take it back. This arrangement sucks. He’s giving Atsumu way too much power, and if the way he acts on the volleyball court is any indication, Miya Atsumu is a menace when he is in control. No matter how much his spikers believe they are doing their own thing, one look at Miya’s face would make it obvious; _those are my points_ his smug face would say. _You did this because of me._

I don’t want to give him power over my body too, Kiyoomi thinks vehemently. _You came because of me,_ he imagines Atsumu saying. No this wouldn’t do. This was a matter of prid-

His thought process is cut off when a soft wet mouth closes over his crotch. 

“Ah!” he unknowingly bucks into it. 

“I’m going to take these off,” Atsumu says softly. 

“I’m not a child Miya,” Kiyoomi snaps, hoping desperately that Atsumu didn’t hear the waver in his voice.

“I’d certainly hope not,” Atsumu says. He sighs, and leans back again.

“Look Omi kun, if you don’t want to, I can just leave okay?”

But I do want to, Kiyoomi thinks desperately. I do want to but-

“I’m not going to bite your dick off if that’s what you’re worried about. Could you just-“ Atsumu rubs his hand over his face, “trust me?”

Atsumu’s disappointment upsets Kiyoomi, and the realization that it does, vexes him even more. But he sits up and wordlessly kicks off his pants, and then his boxers. Its mortifying. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and Kiyoomi is achingly hard, and painfully exposed. 

“Satisfie-“

Atsumu reaches over and tugs Kiyoomi’s t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He stares for a second…two…and Kiyoomi has the wildest urge to cover himself but then-

“Beautiful.” 

The flush is inevitable, but so is the confusion, because is this what fuck buddies say to each other? Kiyoomi isn’t sure, because no one…no one’s ever-

A firm hand pushes his shoulder and he flops onto the bed. Like a pliant little doll, he thinks disgustedly, but his body doesn’t share the same displeasure. His face feels hot, and he can’t see Atsumu anymore, he’s disappeared from his field of vision, but Kiyoomi feels his cock twitch. The thrill of not knowing, the exhilaration, it's a heady sensation. He’s not sure what he looks like to Atsumu, he’s sure there are ugly red patches all over his chest, he’s not sure if Atsumu likes his co-

“Very pretty”

It's whispered from somewhere near his legs, and Kiyoomi shudders involuntarily. And hates himself immediately afterwards. I need to stay composed…composed…composed…

“Can I mark you?”

Composed. Composed. Composed.

“Yes.”

Atsumu’s hands grip the sides of his thighs and gently parts them to either side, further and further, making Kiyoomi’s cock spring out lewdly. It’s embarrassing. He’d thought a blowjob would give him a sense of control, how wrong he’d been, and how excited his body seems to be all the more for it. 

What. Kiyoomi catches himself. What the hell. 

Atsumu licks a stripe up his thigh from the cheek of his ass, and Kiyoomi jumps, covering his mouth.

“Come on now, don’t do that,” Atsumu reprimands. “let me hear you Kiyoomi.” 

He bites the soft flesh, not breaking the skin but hard enough to bruise, and Kiyoomi’s hand leaves his mouth to grab at his hair. 

“I haven’t even started yet you know?”

Atsumu plants soft lingering open mouthed kisses down Kiyoomi’s thigh, and up the junction between his thigh and crotch. He nibbles the skin, leaving marks that will surely sting tomorrow.

Atsumu cups his balls, and Kiyoomi lets out a whimper. It’s useless, he thinks, as he rocks his hips trying to goad Atsumu into getting on with it. 

Atsumu places small kitten licks on his balls and Kiyoomi groans, and then next thing he knows, he’s cushioned in a soft warmth. 

“Ah!” he cries out as Atsumu pushes his thighs flat on either side of the mattress, and swallows him in one go. he bobs his head up and down, Kiyoomi can’t stop staring. His neck hurts from looking but he can’t stop, the same way he can’t stop the punched out noises escaping his mouth. His thighs threaten to close the gap, and trap Atsumu’s head in between; to stop him or make sure he keeps going, Kiyoomi isn’t sure, but Atsumu forces them to the sides, and continues to take Kiyoomi in and out. 

I’m going to come, Kiyoomi thinks incredulously. And he just started. 

_You won’t last two seconds in my ass,_ Atsumu’s arrogant voice rings out. Oh no, Kiyoomi thinks horrified.

“Take y-your clothes o-off,” he mumbles, trying to gain some control. Atsumu releases him and pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, before settling back-

“I said ev-every-ah - everything,” Kiyoomi tries to say. 

“This is annoying me,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi’s heart drops. Atsumu looks at his face and hastens to rectify-

“I meant your legs!” he says. “They keep thrashing around, at this rate I’m going to end up seriously hurt.”

He glances at Kiyoomi.

“Could you do something for me?” Kiyoomi doesn’t like the look on his face. But he wants to cum so bad.

“What?” he asks mouth dry. 

“Hold up your thighs for me. Don’t let them down. Like this-“

He pulls Kiyoomi’s legs up and bends them at the knees, next to his chest and then spreads them apart. It’s an extremely provocative posture, his ass is on full display and his cock leaks precum all over his chest. Kiyoomi grips his thighs and holds the position. 

“Much better,” Atsumu breathes out.

His eyes have turned impossibly dark, almost predatory. He’s scary Kiyoomi realizes. Hinata had told him about his first meeting with Atsumu, and how terrifying he’d been. Kiyoomi hadn’t bought it at the time. Atsumu, scary? No. an absolute goof. Yes.

But he’d been wrong. Atsumu is terrifying, Kiyoomi thinks, and he… is incredibly turned on.

“Now what?” he mumbles, breathing shallow and heart beating as if he’d run a marathon.

“Now,” Atsumu whispers. “I make you cum.”

He settles in the open space between Kiyoomi’s thighs, and sucks a pink nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around-

"Don't," Kiyoomi whispers trembling, and miraculously, Atsumu listens. His body rues the loss as soon as the sensation of Atsumu's tongue disappears and Kiyoomi is equal parts relieved and disappointed.

Atsumu slinks downwards and takes Kiyoomi's cock into his mouth again. His tongue circles and probes Kiyoomi’s slit, around the head, and then licks stripes along the shaft.   
Kiyoomi moans, thighs trembling with the effort to hold them in position, arms aching. This is painful, he thinks. This is exhilarating. Atsumu places a finger at the rim of his opening, not quite pushing in, but making his finger an obvious presence. 

“I can’t-“ Kiyoomi mumbles brokenly, and Atsumu bobs his head vigorously, never breaking eye contact. Kiyoomi can’t bear it. He shuts his eyes; anything to shield himself from the intensity of Atsumu’s gaze. 

“I’m cl-close,” he whimpers.

Atsumu sucks harder, and takes him all the way to his throat before swallowing around him.

“Fuck!” Kiyoomi cries out. “I can’t- ah! Shiiiiiiit-“

He cums so hard his body bucks off the mattress, hands falling to the side to clench at the sheets, toes curling while his hips lift into Atsumu’s mouth. Everything is forcefully wrenched out of him, and there’s nothing but blank space behind his eyelids, it doesn’t seem to stop…the moment drags on and on…and Kiyoomi feels his body spasming, clenching, trying to give more and more.

Atsumu doesn’t so much as flinch, and instead keeps swallowing around him, working him through the aftershocks, and then after, until Kiyoomi is writhing and whimpering.

Well that was fast, Kiyoomi expects him stay. 

Instead Atsumu reaches over, and cups his face with a hand and leans in only to pause by his lips.

“Shit,” he says, and slips off the bed. 

Kiyoomi lies there, feeling utterly filthy, and confused, as Atsumu rinses his mouth.

When he returns, Atsumu leans in slowly and when Kiyoomi doesn’t pull away, presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

“What about you?” Kiyoomi croaks out, throat hoarse as if he’d been the one with a cock down his throat. 

“Are you okay with continuing?” Atsumu asks softly, and Kiyoomi hates when he’s like this, selfless and understanding and brimming with-

“I’m okay,” he says, and he feels weird too, as if there’s a different atmosphere than before, he doesn’t even feel mad when he remembers how Atsumu had taken over, he just…feels.

“I can’t believe he's never made you cum before when you’re this-“ Atsumu pauses, “responsive.”

The truth is, even with all those days of cuddling and hand holding, even with all the text messages and late night calls, Kiyoomi had never quite felt...at ease. Not like today. Not like with Miya. I was right, Kiyoomi thinks. No strings attached is the way to go. There’s a ball of discomfort gathering in the pit of his stomach, as Miya's stare remains relentless, probing.

“Could you just get on with it?” he says. He feels sticky all of a sudden. 

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu says quietly. “it wasn’t my place to say- well, anything.” 

Kiyoomi stays silent, but he’s a little relieved. 

“So Omi kun, can I cum over your abs or is that a no-no?”

Kiyoomi gulps and Atsumu follows the movement with his eyes. He nods silently. 

Atsumu reaches over for the lube and pours a generous amount into his palm. He slathers it over his shaft, and Kiyoomi watches it pulsate slightly in his hands. Kiyoomi feels faint with sudden need, he needs Atsumu in him. It’s a frightening thought. He wants Atsumu to kiss him all over, he wants Atsumu to touch him, stroke him, tug and pull, he thinks as Atsumu’s strokes pick up pace. He wants Atsumu to tell him he did good. How embarrassing. How embarrassing that he wants he wants he wants-

Atsumu’s orgasm catches them both by surprise and he holds onto the railing to prevent himself from collapsing over Kiyoomi’s body as white paints his abdomen. Some of it catches on his face, Kiyoomi can feel it on his lips. He resists the urge to lick it off, until Atsumu wipes it with his thumb and points it at him.

Go on, he goads.

Kiyoomi sucks, swirling his tongue around Atsumu’s finger, involuntarily chasing the taste when Atsumu pulls it off.

“Good boy,” Atsumu teases, and Kiyoomi narrows his eyes in warning, but he can’t hide the flush warming his chest, painting his cheeks in all he wishes to hide.

“Hmm,” Atsumu says, and his eyes flash with interest, the dangerous kind.  
  
Miya Atsumu is terrifying, and kind of amazing, Kiyoomi thinks, and vows never to say out loud.

  
After they'd both showered individually, Atsumu packs his things and makes his way to the door.

“Well,” he says sheepishly. “what do you think?”

“Tomorrow, same time,” Kiyoomi says holding the door open. “if you’re late I’ll leave you outside.”

Atsumu lights up like a happy puppy, and it’s so different from the Atsumu that had left his room mere minutes ago, it's the definition of whiplash.

“I’ll be there,” Atsumu promises.

When the sound of Miya Atsumu’s presence has left his apartment completely, Kiyoomi settles himself on the tiled floor and buries his face in his hands.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, tracing his lips with his fingers, trying and failing to recreate soft, warm lips with a tinge of peppermint.


	2. Chapter 2

“Heya Omi kun!” Atsumu calls out as soon as he sets foot in the gym, and a hot flush washes over Kiyoomi mingled with equal parts embarrassment and relief. The fact that Atsumu is capable of acting normal, like nothing happened last night is nothing short of reassuring, Kiyoomi tells himself as Atsumu moves on to shout out his ‘good morning’s at Hinata stepping into the gym. 

  
Their combo plays seem to actually be improving, and this time when Miya tosses out a “Nice kill Omi kun!” Kiyoomi grants him a small smile. He isn’t sure he’s imagining the little tinge of color in his cheeks, and accounts it to exhaustion and fatigue, even though for some reason his heart does a little flop like a dying fish caught in a net.

  
“So,” Atsumu says flopping down at his side on the bench after playing 5 straight sets against the EJP Rajin’s. “What are we doing tonight?”

  
“Surprise me,” Kiyoomi says confidently, hoping Atsumu doesn’t realize he's assigning responsibility because he actually isn’t acquainted with the concept of friends with benefits and has no idea what he must do after a night of a singular mind-blowing orgasm and jizz over his abs. 

  
“Hmm, I was thinking we could try,” Miya glances around, “y’know, this together,” he mimics an up and down sliding motion with both his palms curled around an open space.

  
Kiyoomi stares. 

  
“Miya have you had sex before?” Atsumu rears back seemingly offended. 

  
“Of course I have,” he mumbles disgruntedly . 

  
“Then we’re having sex tonight.” A thought dawns on him. “Unless you…don’t want to?”

  
Atsumu blinks rapidly and grabs his arm.

  
“Omi kun, are you crazy? I mean, have you _seen_ you? Who _wouldn’t_ want to do you?”

  
“Then stop putting it off,” Kiyoomi mutters warding away his flush with sheer willpower.

  
“You’re all red,” Atsumu says grinning. Well shit, screw willpower.

  
“I haven’t had a friend with benefits before,” Atsumu confesses, and Kiyoomi inclines his head to consider him. “I’ve had one night stands, quickies before a match, nothing as- well, long term as a fuck buddy.”

  
Which probably meant he hadn’t been in a relationship before either, Kiyoomi thinks a little surprised. Well that’s something I have on him, he ponders albeit smugly.  
Atsumu folds his knees and covers his mouth behind them, turning his doe eyed gaze in Kiyoomi’s direction. “I didn’t know what order I had to go in, and you don’t know either, so I just didn’t want to mess up.”

  
“Well let’s figure it out together,” Kiyoomi says, and doesn’t like the way it sounds. “Together” sounds oddly out of place for the term “ fuck buddies” but Atsumu smiles in revelation and Kiyoomi cant take it back now. 

  
“Tonight though,” he says instead, “I want you to fuck me.”

  
He stands up clutching the victory of seeing Miya’s eyes widen and pupils dilate alarmingly, the burst of pride at seeing his pretty mouth drop slightly open.   
Before he’s out of earshot, he hears a hoarse voice mutter, “That I’ll do.”

There are rules to being friends with benefits other than rule 1 and 2. No sex before showering, no unnecessary lounging because they're both grown men with other things to do, they will always have sex at Kiyoomi’s because Kiyoomi cannot guarantee the hygiene of Atsumu’s own place (“I’ll make sure to wipe my dick with sanitizer ya little asshole”) , douching is compulsory (Kiyoomi set it for himself, because Atsumu the dirty pig went “Eh I don’t really mind”) and a couple of rules they were figuring on the way.

  
“No putting things inside my body,” Kiyoomi says warningly as they make their way to the parking lot together.

  
“My dick is gonna have to find another way in then.”

  
“You know what I mean!”

  
“No toys, got it but _jeez_ , how come I get stuck with the most boring fuck buddy in the universe?”

  
Kiyoomi levels a withering glare at him, but then looks at the ground and murmurs a quiet, “for now.”  
Atsumu spins around. 

  
“So maybe later?” he asks grinning.

  
“ _Maybe_ , if you're good enough,” Kiyoomi grumbles.

  
“That’s all I ask for,” Atsumu says with a mock bow.”Okay I'll go to my place, grab some stuff and wash up. Be there at 7!”

  
Kiyoomi watches him sprint off with no care in the world and feels a dull sense of foreboding. He wasn’t a fan of dick in his ass. He’d been there before, and it hadn’t been pretty. _Give him a chance_ , a voice sounding curiously like Motoya's rings in his head.  
He spends the drive home hating himself for his cousin’s voice in his head doling out sex advice.

The moment Atsumu enters through his door, Kiyoomi jumps at him. 

  
“Omi kun I saw a really cu- mmf!”

  
Kiyoomi wraps his arms around Atsumu’s neck, pulling him close, and slips his tongue in to his mouth, replicating his own administrations at him. Atsumu’s eyes are wide open, and Kiyoomi’s own flutter shut as he tugs at his lower lip with enough force to draw out a stretched out moan.

  
Its heady, this feeling of control. And Kiyoomi can understand a little of why Atsumu is always so desperate for it; on the court and here. He grips Atsumu’s jaw and angles it upwards, one hand traveling down the expanse of his neck and hooking into the crevices of the buttons in his shirt. He’s sure there will be nail prints on Miya's face from the way he yelps at the grip, and can’t help the smirk creeping its way onto his face-

  
The nail prints have a reverse effect though, because muscle memory seems to kick in as Atsumu sweeps his arms around him, the force of the embrace lifting him off his feet.

  
“Put me down idiot!” Kiyoomi hisses, and Atsumu gives a tiny kiss on the side of his jaw, still crushing Kiyoomi to his chest, and then plants wet open mouthed kisses all the way to his lips, but avoids them altogether to dip low onto his chin , causing Kiyoomi to angle his head and gasp a little for air.

  
“You little-“

  
Atsumu lets go of him completely and he stumbles a little, falling back onto the wall behind him for support, but Atsumu’s got a _look_ to him now. The next second, he strides towards Kiyoomi who for some reason flattens himself against the wall, his heart thundering in his chest.

  
Atsumu slides his hands around Kiyoomi's body, slipping his palms under his pants and groping both his ass cheeks roughly. Kiyoomi yelps and pushes at his chest, but even he can tell how half hearted it must seem. Atsumu gazes into his eyes, as he kneads the flesh slowly.

  
“Open your mouth,” he whispers softly, and Kiyoomi's mouth falls open with no resistance at all, he’d be humiliated if he could vacate his brain enough to feel anything other than horny desperation and _need_.

  
“Tongue out,” Atsumu says softly.

  
When this is all over Kiyoomi will kill this bastard for telling him what to do, this isn’t the volleyball court who does he think he is…this isn’t his domain.

He does it anyway.

  
Its utterly erotic and nothing short of dirty, the way Atsumu curls his tongue around Kiyoomi's own for a good two seconds before slotting their mouths together while dragging Kiyoomi's hips forward with the vice grip on his ass, their erections rubbing together over layers of cloth.

  
_Would Miya fuck the way he plays volleyball_?

  
It’s the most bizarre thought Kiyoomi's had all evening, and he quickly shoves it away even as one of Atsumu's hands drift to his front and teasingly brushes over his length before grazing his abdomen, one finger curling and circling his bellybutton under his shirt.

  
His body had been in control for two minutes maybe, and now it writhes and twists under Atsumu's experienced touch. _Pathetic_ , he tells himself as Atsumu pinches his nipples insistently and his spine arches off the wall only to be pressed against it again.

  
_I'm the greatest challenger you see,_ he hears an Atsumu sounding voice say in his head. _Better be real careful when you test me Omi kun._

  
“Shut up,” Kiyoomi moans, “Shut up you’re so lame!”  
Atsumu straightens and rears back looking offended.

  
“ _Excuse_ me?” he exclaims, but Kiyoomi pulls him back in, fingers threading into his hair.

  
“’s nothing,” he slurs out like a man so intoxicated he can't string proper sentences together. “Just kiss me.”

  
Atsumu grumbles into his neck, and then they're kissing again. Kissing, Kiyoomi thinks, may just be the best thing in the world. The liberating feeling accompanied ironically by a loss of control; he can let it happen, and it's so incredibly dirty, so incredibly pleasant.

  
Ignoring the alarm bells ringing in his head at the complete chaos and contradictions, Kiyoomi responds to the kiss with as much fervor he can muster.

  
Atsumu’s hands skim over his ass, down his legs and circle around his knees, and Kiyoomi doesn’t quite realize the exact moment he’s hoisted into the air, his erection flush against Atsumu’s abdomen.

  
“Wha-“

  
“Come on,” Atsumu murmurs, and Kiyoomi’s legs wrap around his waist on their own accord. 

  
“This is crazy,” he mutters, but Atsumu only hums and starts leading them towards Kiyoomi’s bedroom.  
Kiyoomi isn’t sure what he’s doing, the moment of truth is approaching, and if Atsumu’s dick against his own had been any indication, he was extremely well endowed, and that could mean either absolute terror, or absolute bliss.

  
He cups Miya’s face just as he leans over to drop Kiyoomi lightly on the bed, and in the second they're suspended, Kiyoomi hanging like a monkey onto Atsumu’s body, he plants as many kisses as he can; on his thick eyebrows, his nose, the planes of his cheeks. 

  
Atsumu drops him, and reels back looking a little stunned. Kiyoomi can't really explain himself, doesn’t know how. _It just felt right_ and _I'm kind of scared_ are the sentences currently sitting on his tongue, but neither seem like a good choice; a bit too vulnerable, a bit too assuming.

  
So he looks off to the side, and lets Atsumu figure it out.

  
Hot lips trail the expanse of his jaw, inching towards his ear, leaving little tingles of electricity in its wake. 

  
“Hurry,” he murmurs pulling at Atsumu’s hair but he continues undeterred, sucking an earlobe into his mouth. And then Kiyoomi feels tentative lips plant one small kiss on his lips, moving upwards to kiss both his moles, while the roughened pad of a finger swipes tenderly over his eyebrows. This is far more intimate than he had anticipated and yet mentioning this out loud, would mean admitting to feeling the oddly soft atmosphere when seconds ago, it had been fiery, charged.

  
“Atsumu,” he mumbles, eyes lidded; he’s not immune to Atsumu’s proximity, it’s a powerful thing. But Atsumu only dips down to press his lips onto each of Kiyoomi’s eyelids; where his movement before had been precise, calculated, now the movement is tentative, unsure of welcome.

  
He untangles one of Kiyoomi’s hands from his hair, and raises it to his lips-

  
And then sits back on his heels. The motion is so abrupt that Kiyoomi blinks from the sudden influx of light that had previously been blocked due to Atsumu’s body. But now he can see everything, the room isn’t too bright, but he can see the blush riding high on Miya’s cheekbones.

  
“Ah- where were we? Sorry, got carried away,” Atsumu lets out a nervous chuckle, and runs his hand through his hair. It’s a habit of his, when he’s bitten off more than he can chew, and appearance of that particular habit in the bedroom- doesn’t bode well.

  
“You were about to fuck me,” Kiyoomi reminds him, levelling his voice.

  
Miya blinks, and then scoffs.  
“Thanks genius,” he mutters, and grabs Kiyoomi’s thighs, pulling him towards him.

  
He threads his fingers in Kiyoomi’s curls and says, “Not as smooth as I thought they were,” before crashing their lips together.

  
Atsumu’s kisses are another thing altogether, Kiyoomi thinks. Right now, they're all consuming. He doesn’t let Kiyoomi have an inch, doesn’t let him gather his thoughts in the slightest, he takes his time fucking into his mouth with his tongue, and when he pulls off, he deliberately lets the string of spit hang there, and break.

  
“Lift your head,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi does, because he needs to hate himself later for being such a pushover, but now-now, he’s going to let Atsumu and his own hungry body tell him exactly what needs to be done.

  
Atsumu kisses his way down his neck slowly, enjoying every little gasp Kiyoomi lets out, has no choice but to let out because his throat is angled in a position of most inconvenience.

  
The bite on his collarbone is slight, but Kiyoomi’s cock twitches at the slight display of possesiveness, amd judging by the smile at his chest, it doesn’t go unnoticed. Atsumu lifts Kiyoomi's shirt over his head, and then tugs at his pants, pulling his boxers off in one go. Nudity may be empowering for some porn stars, Kiyoomi thinks, but that's certainly not the case for him. He has the sudden urge to cover himself with the bed sheets strewn around carelessly, shoved aside by one Miya Atsumu.

  
All in all, he’s fared well. Miya is a good kisser, that is true, but Kiyoomi feels pleased with himself. His mind remains clear, he is a fully functioning human being-

  
Atsumu sticks his tongue out, and circles around the tip of a dark nipple, slowly, sensuously.

  
“Don’t,” Kiyoomi gasps out, but this time, Atsumu doesn’t listen. His fingers creep up on the other nipple, teasing and tweaking, while his tongue continues its work.  
Kiyoomi bucks his hips in desperation, “I cant…Atsu- Tsumu!” 

  
This only prompts Atsumu to close his lips around him, and suck. Its not gentle, it’s the furthest from gentle, and Kiyoomi moans pulling at Atsumu’s hair.  
His fingers pick up pace, rolling the nub in between with careful precision, eyes dark and focused as he laps at the sweat covered skin, sucking it in his mouth and then taking it in between his teeth, applying just enough pressure making Kiyoomi shove his chest at his face and pull him closer, as close as he can be, his mouth opening in broken “Don’t”s that he can't bring himself to mean.

  
There's wetness rolling down the side of his face, trickling into the sheets, he’s not sure if it's sweat or tears, Atsumu is relentless, but now he rubs his body on Kiyoomi’s hardness, restricting his movements, giving…but it's nowhere near enough.

  
“Y’know,” he says staring down at the swollen bud, “I bet you could cum just like this.” 

  
Kiyoomi gasps as he leans down again and pulls at his lips, sweet torture is still torture and release seems a while away.

  
“Miya I swear to God-“

  
Atsumu pulls off entirely, leaving Kiyoomi hanging, feeling bare and completely vulnerable. Where they had been pressed, every inch somehow in contact with each other before, now there’s only a gaping absence.

  
“What are you doing?” Kiyoomi gasps out. “’What the hell do you-“

  
“Omi kun.”

  
Miya’s voice is low, eyes impossibly dark. His pupils seem to have swallowed all the warmth from his gaze. A chill runs down Kiyoomi's spine, he's not sure what he's done wrong but he's done something-he's definitely done something-

  
"Omi kun, what was rule number 1?" 

  
The world comes to a standstill; because rule number 1 is _right there._ The personification of rule number 1 is right in front of him, and the words are sitting on his tongue, have been sitting on his _mind_ ever since they'd agreed to this whole arrangement, so how did he forget? How the hell did he forget rule number 1? Kiyoomi can feel the sweat gathering in his armpits, his saliva feels thick, threatening to choke him, he can't breathe for some reason and Atsumu is still _looking_. It's ridiculous. Atsumu shouldn't scare him, the look Atsumu gives him shouldn't make his hand tremble, shouldn't make his cock harder than it already is. He looks downright _condescending_. Kiyoomi should just pack up and leave. Or make Atsumu leave because damn it, this is _his_ house!

  
"What's my name Omi kun?" 

  
"Atsumu," Kiyoomi hastens to say, even though the way to salvage his dignity is to maybe hold off until Atsumu is desperate. That's the logical way. That's the _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ way. But the horny part of Kiyoomi's sense of self has full reigns on his body now, and it prompts him to give Miya- Atsumu- this _specific_ version of Miya Atsumu- everything he asks for, because danger could slap him in the face and spit on him and it would be nowhere as obvious as the warning bells going frenzy in his head.

  
"Atsumu," he repeats trying to steady his voice, "Atsumu. Come here now". 

  
He probably should have learned his lesson about being fully naked in the presence of a clothed Atsumu last time but if this sexual experience taught Kiyoomi anything, it's that he can't be taught, he never learns. 

  
_Oh you'll learn quick enough_ , an Atsumu shaped voice whispers in his head, but Atsumu's lips haven't moved, he hasn't moved in a while. 

  
And then he does, the motion so languid and refined, it's hard to believe he trips over his feet in the MSBY cafeteria when he can't see past his own food tray.  
Kiyoomi is still lying flat on his bed, legs stretched out, arms folded over his chest. Atsumu moves to sit by his hips, and considers him for a while. Long fingers curl around his ass cheek, the other wrapping around his bicep, and before he realizes it, Atsumu flips him over. 

  
"Wha-Ah!" 

  
"Who am I, Omi kun?" Atsumu whispers provocatively beside his shoulder blades.

  
"Atsumu," Kiyoomi gasps out, "you're Atsumu!"

  
"I am," Atsumu murmurs, and sinks his teeth into the soft muscle of Kiyoomi's ass.

  
Kiyoomi cries out and tightens his grip on the pillowcase, he can feel the drool inching past him chin, but his mouth refuses to stay put, as Atsumu noses into the crack of his ass. 

  
"I said I'd stop, if you broke rule number 1, do you remember Kiyoomi?"

  
"I do- Atsumu pl- Atsumuuuu-" he whimpers brokenly as Atsumu sucks at the junction between his ass and thigh. 

  
"If you don't fuck me n-now, I swear to G-"

  
"You'll what, Omi kun? What could you _possibly_ do to me? What could you possibly do-" Atsumu dips his voice and leans forward, "other than beg me to fuck you like the little whore you are?"

  
Kiyoomi whines, and thrashes while Atsumu holds his hips down on the sheets. This is debasing. This is exhilarating.

  
Kiyoomi won't beg. Kiyoomi will never beg. But-  
Atsumu plants sloppy wet kisses on the nape of his neck and Kiyoomi shudders.

  
"A little magic word Kiyoomi," Atsumu murmurs.  
"Go fuck yourself," Kiyoomi snarls but it lacks bite, and if his low laugh is anything to go by, Atsumu knows.   
"We need to work on your begging, Omi kun."

  
His erection is borderline painful, if Kiyoomi doesn't cum now he's sure he'll burst. He's not going to survive this, this sweet, sweet pain, he hates how much he loves it but he needs to cum. He needs to. He has to, or he'll lose his goddamn mind. 

  
Kiyoomi thrashes on the sheets and rubs himself to ease the ache and the pressure on his cock. He buries his face in his pillow and gyrates his hips, raising and dropping them, then rubbing in a circular motion.  
It takes him a few moments to realise that Atsumu hasn't spoken a word. The air is stiflingly quiet. He peeks a glance back at him. Atsumu looks dazed, face beet red, almost puffy.

  
When he meets Kiyoomi's eyes, he coughs a little.   
"Go on," he says hoarsely.  
Kiyoomi isn't sure what he looks like, only that release is seconds away and he's close, he's so, so close.  
He looks at Atsumu while he ruts onto the sheets, before Atsumu wordlessly lifts his hips and shoves a pillow underneath.   
The added material drives Kiyoomi's body into a frenzy, the moans spill out shamelessly, he's close-he's so darn close- if Atsumu would just tell him to, he's sure he'd cum all over the sheets, he's never been this hard before-

  
"Stop."

  
Kiyoomi almost sobs in desperation, because his body seems to have recognized Miya's words as signals from his brain, that is truly the only available explanation, because this is just fucked up.  
This is bullshit he thinks, as his hips come to a halt. This is bullshit.

  
But then Miya reaches for the lube, and Kiyoomi's mind goes blank.

  
"Spread your legs," Atsumu says. His voice is oddly shaky.

  
Kiyoomi watches him smear lube over his fingers, and rub them together. He lifts one of Kiyoomi's legs over his shoulder and prods at his entrance with his index finger. 

  
Atsumu leans in bending Kiyoomi's leg towards his torso, and captures his lips, while slowly slipping his finger in. It's an uncomfortable sensation, Kiyoomi has done this before so he's not unaccustomed to the intrusion.

  
But Atsumu's lips keep his mouth and mind occupied, his tongue swirling rhythmically, licking into him, consuming him, while a finger works it's way steadily inside him. Atsumu moves the finger in and out, slowly, before moving it sideways, slowly stretching him. 

  
Kiyoomi feels the second finger slide in along the first, brushing his walls. He clenches involuntarily but Atsumu's gaze is soft now, comforting. He nudges Kiyoomi's nose with his own, and breathes a slow "relax, I've got you," onto his lips.

  
It does the trick, Atsumu's fingers slide and slip inside him, and then scissor him open. The lube squelches and makes lewd sounds, and Kiyoomi hides his embarassment on Atsumu's neck, bites his collarbone, his shoulder, wherever he can, to ground himself. 

  
"Okay," Atsumu murmurs, "okay. Okay"

  
Okay what? Kiyoomi almost asks but the thought dies as suddenly as it comes. 

  
"No," he whimpers.

  
"Yes," Atsumu murmurs into his hair, as he curls his fingers against Kiyoomi's prostate. 

  
"Right there-unnghh-"

  
"I got you baby, I got you baby boy-"

  
"No n Ahhh- _Atsu-_ , Atsumuuu-" he wails bucking into Atsumu's fingers as waves of pleasure roll over him, tightening at his balls and causing strings of precum to drip onto his abdomen. 

  
"Don't let me- with you-" Kiyoomi gasps out hoping Atsumu understands, but Atsumu pushes in another finger and Kiyoomi gasps arching his back, as Atsumu swirls a tongue into the dip of his collarbones.

  
"This is to stretch you," Atsumu assures, "I wont make you cum, this is just to- shit you're so fucking tight!"

  
The pressure against his prostate is dull now, Atsumu curls his fingers around his hole, and then takes them out.

  
Kiyoomi clenches over nothing, and almost sobs at the sensation, at the feeling of emptiness.

  
"Gonna make this perfect for you," Atsumu mutters, and Kiyoomi sees his pants drop followed by his boxers, and holy shit he's not going to fit- this is sheer madness-

  
Instead he grumbles out, "Shirt too." Atsumu blinks, and then shoots a blinding grin his way before taking off his shirt entirely. Miya Atsumu is hot, Kiyoomi admits to himself. He's hot and he's a menace and Kiyoomi can't wait to feel him inside him. Pain or pleasure, whatever it might bring, the anticipation is real.

  
Atsumu pulls on a condom and slathers lube over his shaft, and lines himself up at Kiyoomi's entrance.  
"Omi kun- Kiyoomi, I need you to open your legs as far as they can go," he says softly. 

  
"You pervert," Kiyoomi mumbles flushing, but obliges nonetheless because this is Atsumu, and Atsumu with bedroom eyes is a force to be reckoned with.  
Atsumu pushes in and Kiyoomi sucks his breath in, he thought right, the stretch is painful but not as painful as it could be so he only gasps as Atsumu sheaths himself to the hilt

  
He doesn't realize his eyes are shut, doesn't sense the tears falling from the side of his eyes, until Atsumu kisses them away 

  
"Don't worry, I wont move just yet," he says smiling, and the utter normalcy with which he regards Kiyoomi has him relaxing despite himself.

  
The pain dissipates slowly and he tells Atsumu as such, prompting Atsumu to raise one leg over his shoulder.

  
"Wha-" 

  
"Trust me," Atsumu urges, and pulls out.

  
Almost immediately, he enters back in and Kiyoomi jolts because the sensation is not pain but rather a feeling of fullness.

  
Atsumu slides back out, and thrusts in again, this time a little more insistent and Kiyoomi can't help the groan sliding past his lips. 

  
"Shit," he hisses

  
"Hold on," Atsumu whispers. "It's about to get good." 

  
He shifts Kiyoomi's leg, and pulls out almost to the tip before ramming back in, but this time the nerves deep within Kiyoomi ignite with fervor and he gasps. Atsumu wastes no time, this time deliberately aiming for that particular spot, and hitting it right on. Kiyoomi's back arches off the bed, and he grips at the sides of the bed sheets, claws at Atsumu's forearms.

  
"What is h-happening?" Atsumu doesn't reply but thrusts again, in quick succession, this time aiming deeper, hitting Kiyoomi's prostate over and over again with innate precision.

  
Kiyoomi moans and gurgles, as Atsumu's thrusts punch all the reason out of him, his nails scraping at Atsumu's back pulling him closer, and each time Atsumu sinks a little deeper into him than before.  
Kiyoomi cries out as sparks ignite all over him, and Atsumu takes that opportunity to tug roughly on an already abused nipple.

  
"Ah! Ahh Ats- Tsumuuu-" he gasps out, "can't- no more-" he wails his walls clenching, sticking to Atsumu's cock, the sounds of sex and Atsumu's own grunts mingling in the otherwise quiet apartment.   
Atsumu's thrusts grow erratic and Kiyoomi is so close, so desperate. But Atsumu knows and Kiyoomi had been right all along, about Atsumu giving him exactly what he needs.

  
A calloused hand wraps itself around Kiyoomi's cock and tugs once, twice-

  
Kiyoomi cums with a guttural moan, body lifting straight off the bed, and fists clenching at Atsumu's broad back, surely drawing blood. He convulses around Atsumu's cock, clenching and trying to hold him in as much as possible; Atsumu's thrusts grow sloppy even as he works Kiyoomi through the aftershocks, and soon enough Atsumu spills into the condom, thrusts twice more and drops limply at Kiyoomi's side.

  
For a few seconds they just gasp for air, trying to regain themselves; the coherence they'd lost at some point of their crazed frenzy.

  
And then Kiyoomi turns around, and he can't help it. Maybe it's the softness that accompanies sex, maybe it's the odd atmosphere that always surrounds any moment of intimacy revolving Miya Atsumu, but Kiyoomi finds himself turning on his side and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Atsumu's lips

  
"Thank you," he says. 

  
Atsumu looks taken aback but then his eyes crinkle at the sides and his mouth pulls open impossibly wide,   
"Pleasure is mine, Omi kun. Quite literally" 

After Miya leaves, Kiyoomi sits down and allows himself to think. It's the best he's felt in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! The other chapters will be on time! 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

They settle into a rhythm. What had been a tentatively put schedule, quickly evolves into four days a week at Kiyoomi’s place. Atsumu’s place remains a closed door, because rules are meant to be followed; Kiyoomi knows that now.

Atsumu moans about how he’d rather spend the other three days fucking Kiyoomi too (“Additional workout hurts nobody Omi kun”) but Kiyoomi remains adamant. Four days a week itself feels like pushing an invisible boundary and hoping it doesn’t break, but Miya Atsumu is an addiction he’s discovering, and constantly indulging in. The rational part of Kiyoomi’s mind wonders why Miya doesn’t simply spend the rest of the week with some other poor guy or girl that frequents the bar Miya visits every weekend; he’s sure there are more than enough people _willing_ , but there’s an unfamiliar fear that lingers in the air at actually asking Miya about it. It feels like doing so would break the balance they’ve established (and maybe push Miya into doing just that; pursuing other people). He feels good knowing that Miya only sees him, less things to worry about. From a purely objective standpoint, he reminds himself.

Atsumu keeps getting bolder with each passing day and by the end of two weeks he’s fully resorted to _attempting_ at giving Kiyoomi secret handjobs every time they end up accidentally-on-purpose sit next to each other on the bus. _Attempting_ because Kiyoomi promptly smacks his hand away, snapping at the sheer _audacity_. But Atsumu grows more and more convincing by the day, it’s equal parts endearing and terrifying.

That night after they’ve had sex, he worms himself into the bathroom when Kiyoomi showers, and convinces him to let him watch.

Atsumu has seen Kiyoomi naked many, many times by now, has seen him in provocative positions that make Kiyoomi want to die come morning, had literally just been touching him _everywhere_ not thirty minutes ago, but allowing Atsumu to watch while he bathes, is a new level of intimacy.

They’re feet apart, and yet Kiyoomi doubts he’s the only one feeling the intensity.

Atsumu leans on the sink, arms crossed, as Kiyoomi strips and steps in, under the shower head. Trying to ignore his gaze is an almost impossible feat, but Kiyoomi turns away and murmurs;

“Like what you see?”

There’s no response, and the only sound is the steady patter of water droplets on Kiyoomi’s skin, the slow trickle down his legs onto the ceramic floor.

The absence of any comment from Atsumu is unnerving in itself, so Kiyoomi turns around to meet his gaze and find them centered on him. Hungry.

“I asked you a question,” he says quietly, trying not to break the tension, the feeling of the air around them being pulled taut.

“I like it very much,” Atsumu says, voice hoarse.

Kiyoomi smiles and reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, brings them down to his neck, brushes over his nipples. He pinches them slightly, and closes his eyes when he hears Atsumu’s sharp inhale. Water is a sensual element, Kiyoomi thinks letting it dribble from his mouth, down his chin-

“You’re really trying to kill me,” Atsumu groans, and Kiyoomi bends over to wash his calves, hiding his smile.

“Can I come in?” Atsumu asks hopefully, but Kiyoomi sends him a glare and he settles back, grumbling.

“What’s the point of seeing this, and not being able to touch?” he whines.

“You asked for it,” Kiyoomi says, reaching for the shampoo.

“I’m hard again,” Atsumu says leaning forward.

“Sounds like a _you_ problem.”

Kiyoomi should really work on keeping his smiles in check. They’ve been popping up more frequently as of late, and sap away all the authority from his self. He’s half sure Atsumu doesn’t take him seriously anymore, and it’s a hit on his pride. He needs to fix this.

“You’re so pretty when you smile,” a voice says behind him, and Kiyoomi flushes right down to his toes. He can tell because the bathroom mirror hangs to his right, flaunting him on full display. Their eyes meet in the mirror, heated animalistic gazes mingling as billows of steam blur the screen and attempt to dim the heat, the intensity.

“Omi kun. Can I come in now?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me in,” Atsumu grumbles after stepping out after his own shower.

Kiyoomi hums, and continues washing the rice, draining the cloudy water, and swirling his hand around the vessel. He waits to hear the door close after Atsumu but instead hears a dull thump.

He looks up to see Atsumu bouncing on his couch.

“What are you doing?”

“Omi kun,” Atsumu beams, “Let’s watch a movie.”

_No unnecessary lounging._

_“_ No rule breaking, get out.” Kiyoomi says simply, returning to his task.

“Why are you so rude?” Atsumu whines sickening, and endearing. “We’re friends, friends watch movies together. We _never_ do friend things together.”

“I don’t have any movies,” Kiyoomi says irritably. This man is stickier than any adhesive; but no, Kiyoomi will put his foot down. They’ve broken enough rules for a lifetime, and breaking rules only seemed to result in _him_ getting punished. Him enjoying the punishment, _momentarily_ , is utterly irrelevant.

“Netflix!” Atsumu exclaims with the enthusiasm of a five year old at Disney land.

“I haven’t paid for my subscription.”

“Me neither,” Atsumu says meekly. “We could watch something online! Or even better, we could try these,” he gestures at the three DVD’S arranged neatly in Kiyoomi’s CD rack.

He reaches for all three, knocking the rack over and hastily rearranges it while Kiyoomi promises him sweet death.

“Horror, romance, Sci fi,” Atsumu observes. “Titanic?” he asks questioningly.

“I’ve watched it only once,” Kiyoomi mutters. This is a bold faced lie. Leonardo di Caprio in Titanic was Kiyoomi’s second gay awakening, Ushijima Wakatoshi being the first. Kiyoomi watched Titanic religiously and hates himself for it.

“Let’s watch the scary one,” Atsumu says already heading for the stereo system.

“I didn’t agree you moron, and this is unlawful trespassing, get out already,” Kiyoomi snaps, while adding more rice to the pot. Damn Miya Atsumu.

“You’re helping me with dinner.”

“After the movie,” Atsumu says dismissively. “For now,” he motions at Kiyoomi, gesticulating wildly as the opening credits roll in, “Sit! Hurry!”

Kiyoomi takes the opposite end of the couch, and wonders if he’ll need mufflers. Atsumu is so open with his moods that for his own safety, he should be prepared.

He’s right. Kiyoomi has watched the movie so many times he knows when the jump scares will happen, so he finds himself staring at the movie that is Miya Atsumu.

Atsumu screams when the background music hits a crescendo, when the music halts, when there’s a sudden explosion and chunks of cement and wood fly everywhere. He yells and grabs a cushion and Kiyoomi worries there’ll be teeth prints on his furniture by the end of it, and curses Miya Atsumu for being such a menace.

But when the ghost makes its appearance, smeared in blood and mouth sewn shut, Atsumu laughs so hard, he slides off the couch right onto the floor. The characters scream and die, and Atsumu laughs and gasps and claws at Kiyoomi.

“Omi kun-“ he gasps out through fits and wheezes, “did you see all that paint?”

“Omi kun, did you see the way he screamed _before_ he sprained his ankle?”

“Omi kun I’d be more scared if he just projectile peed like that one animal on that one kids show, damn it I can’t remember the name, but dude, this is just impractical.”

The way Miya Atsumu _watches movies_ is just impractical. Kiyoomi watches him watch people die, and it’s just so annoyingly confusing.

“Thanks for the meal,” Atsumu calls out when he steps out that night. “Oh and for dinner,” he says and cackles as if he’d said something funny.

Kiyoomi slams the door in his face, and when his footsteps have subsided, allows himself to smile.

The next time after sex, Atsumu insists on watching Titanic.

“He’s hot,” Atsumu says tilting his head at Leonardo di Caprio, munching on popcorn he’d taken from Kiyoomi’s shelf, and roasted on Kiyoomi’s stove. The sheer audacity of Miya Atsumu to make himself at home on Kiyoomi’s couch when they’d both agreed on the ‘no unnecessary lounging’ rule should ideally piss Kiyoomi off but it doesn’t, so he spends his time acting like it does. He’s not sure Atsumu buys it.

“You’re lame,” Kiyoomi retorts rubbing at the fingerprints etched on his hips. Atsumu glances at him and frowns a little.

“Crap,” he mutters leaning in, breath sweeping over Kiyoomi’s sensitive skin and rubbing the pads of his fingers over the bruises coloring his hips. For a second Kiyoomi thinks he’ll kiss the bruise, but then Atsumu straightens up and sends an apologetic look his way.

“I don’t mind,” Kiyoomi mutters because it’s true. What he does mind is the slight tinge of disappointment he feels, for no reason at all.

Atsumu smiles and stuffs more popcorn into his mouth, and he doesn’t even aim his food properly into his mouth; they trickles down his chest and he doesn’t notice.

“Why are you so messy?” Kiyoomi grumbles but Atsumu shushes him apparently too immersed in the movie.

Kiyoomi had prepared tissues because he’d seen people cry watching Titanic. He supposes it’s not that embarrassing considering Motoya had told him _everyone_ cries watching it, though of course he isn’t the most credible source of information.

But as the final thirty minutes of the movie approaches, Atsumu’s eyes grow narrower and narrower until Kiyoomi isn’t even sure he can _see_ the screen.

When Jack tells Rose there’s room for only one on the plank, and Miya _snorts,_ Kiyoomi’s had enough.

“What?” he snaps. “What is it? Are you a goddamn psychopath? I’m not telling you to like the movie I can see why it’s not for everyone but what’s so goddamn funny-“

“Calm your tits Omi kun,” Atsumu says looking mildly alarmed, and reaches to pat him on his chest grinning wide at his outrage.

Kiyoomi throws a cushion at his face.

“Woah! Wait let me explain,” Atsumu says, hair mussed up and hands raised in surrender.

Kiyoomi huffs and waits for the inevitable nonsense he’s sure to spew out.

“Y’know how Rose could have gone in the lifeboat with the other women and children and dived into the ship because ‘true love’ and shit?” Atsumu says, looking up at the heavens as if asking for guidance.

Kiyoomi nods, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“ _Well_ if she’d just stayed in the goddamn lifeboat, Leo-Jack could’ve taken the one-person-only plank, and lived,” Atsumu says cramming some more popcorn into his mouth. “In conclusion, Jack died _because_ of Rose.” He muses through a full mouth.

There’s silence save for the background music swelling as Jack dies in the distance.

“You ruined this for me,” Kiyoomi says quietly. “Get out.”

When takeout arrives, Atsumu is still laughing like a fucking madman (“Omi kun you’re so cute, how are you so cute? Did I hurt your feelings?”), but offers him his boiled egg as a peace giving.

“I don’t like egg,” Kiyoomi grumbles, but accepts it anyway. When he steps out that night, Kiyoomi moves to shut the door, but Atsumu grabs his face and plants a big slobbery kiss on his lips and laughs all the way to the elevator, as Kiyoomi shakes his fists behind him. The room is decidedly warmer when Kiyoomi closes the door.

Kiyoomi isn’t in a good mood. His brother had convinced him to take a shot of tequila, just one, and Kiyoomi confident in his alcohol tolerance had obliged. He wasn’t sure _what_ was in that tequila because he’d almost passed out, and was sporting a raging headache in practice today.

He misses two of Atsumu’s tosses in a row. Coach Forster calls for a timeout. After the timeout he misses the timing of two more. Atsumu grabs him by the elbow and hisses,

“Are you seriously drunk right now?”

“No,” Kiyoomi spits out annoyed. “I had one shot- look never mind I’m just having an off day.”

If there’s one person that doesn’t understand the concept of off days, it’s Miya Atsumu. Kiyoomi braces himself for the inevitable telling off and readies a cutting response, but it never comes. Atsumu saunters away, and somehow, it is that simple action that makes Kiyoomi stew in humiliation.

He gets subbed out for the first time in his life.

“You’re having a bad day,” Coach Forster tells him, and Kiyoomi realizes it’s his consistent good performance over the last few years that’s making Forster bite his tongue instead of rightfully lashing out at him. It makes him bitter for no reason at all. It reminds him that he’s messing up. He wants to curse everyone out. Instead he bites his tongue.

“You okay?” Atsumu questions warily when they’re in the locker room, and Kiyoomi comes to a realization. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re sleeping together; that’s why Atsumu is holding back.

“Mind your own business Miya,” he snaps irritably and from the corner of his eyes, sees Atsumu’s eyebrows disappear beneath his hairline.

“Jeez, someone’s woken up on the bad side of the-“

“Could you fucking can it?” Kiyoomi snarls and it comes out a little louder than he’d expected. Heads swivel around all over the room as their teammates exchange glances and observe them warily. Atsumu flushes and flips him off before walking away.

What a drama queen, Kiyoomi fumes, observing his retreating back. He knows full well how Miya used to treat his teammates, Kiyoomi is not going to feel guilty, not when ‘bastard’ runs in Miya’s veins.

Deep down inside, a part of him screams that they’re not the same thing at all, but pride is a fickle thing, and Kiyoomi counts on Atsumu getting over it and sparing them both the awkwardness.

However as the locker room empties, and barely any people are left, guilt starts eating at his insides.

He sighs, and makes his way to where Miya is, only to halt when he hears Miya _laugh_.

“No one, for fucks sake Bokkun, _no one_ ,” he huffs out in a quiet voice.

“You wouldn’t do _any_ of the guys in our team?” It’s Inunaki.

“Well not that I wouldn’t, I just don’t really click, sexually I mean.”

Bokuto snorts.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t eyeing Hinata’s ass since he got here, you really aren’t slick Tsum,” he cackles. Silence.

“Fuck, was I really that obvious?”

“I think everyone except Hinata knows,” Inunaki says laughing.

And Kiyoomi. Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t know.

“Don’t dodge the question, would you want to have sex with him now?”

“I’ve never really thought about it-“

“Yes or no?”

“I’m kind of already-“

“Yes or no Miya, it ain’t that hard buddy.”

“He’s cute, so yeah I guess.”

Kiyoomi walks away.

“Hey Omi kun, lets walk together!” Atsumu calls out cheerfully, jogging towards him in the parking lot. Atsumu smiles and waves and it makes Kiyoomi's blood boil, to see him looking so unperturbed, when Kiyoomi feels so uncomfortable, so angry, for no reason at all. All he knows is that it's because of Atsumu; this raging headache, this peculiar heartache.

“I wanted to talk about what we’re doing tonight-“

“Must be fun,” Kiyoomi says monotonously.

Atsumu blinks.

“Well that’s the plan-“

He needs something that will slap the look off Miya's face. He needs to cut through this facade, and there's a quick way to do it. He heralds the one thing he has over Miya Atsumu, and shapes it into a weapon.

“Y’know Miya, maybe the reason none of your relationships stick is because you are the way you are.”

It's stupid because they're obviously not in a relationship but Atsumu recoils as if he’d been slapped. Kiyoomi isn’t sure what he’s doing. Words are spilling from his mouth, and none of them are pretty and yet he feels a vindictive satisfaction in wiping the ever present glee from Miya Atsumu’s face.

“Omi kun, you’re crossing a line-“

“You drive people away; because you never change do you? You're intolerable and utterly insufferable. One glance at you and it's pretty obvious, commitment doesn't mean shit in your dictionary. I bet people can tell.”

This is undeserved, Atsumu has no idea what he’s talking about but the rage that had been absent when Kiyoomi had missed his tosses is lingering within reach and Kiyoomi wants to tap it. He’s so angry and he wants Atsumu to feel angry because his anger makes no sense. He shouldn’t feel annoyed at the sight of Miya’s face but he does, and it’s driving him crazy because fucking four days a week doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t seem like anything to Miya either and that should be completely fine, in theory.

“I never asked why your brother stopped playing, he’s less of a menace, was that your doing too?”

Kiyoomi realizes exactly when he crosses the line.

Atsumu’s eyes widen and they’re filled with rage such that Kiyoomi has never seen before, and it’s such a raw emotion, one that precious Shoyou kun has and will never see. For one panic stricken moment Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu will punch him, but Atsumu shoves his curled fists into his pockets and simply walks away.

When the high falls away, and everything is left bare, Kiyoomi realizes just what he’d done.

“I need help,” Kiyoomi mumbles into his phone dreading the answer, and Motoya replies with just as much gusto as he’d expected.

“Who did you piss off?” Kiyoomi hears the thinly veiled glee in his voice and chalks down mentally yet again, how sadistically evil his cousin can be. Of course it might also be the fact that the only time Kiyoomi calls him is when he messes up. He’d panicked and told Motoya all about his arrangement with Atsumu after that very first blow job and he hadn’t had a break since.

“Trouble in paradise with piss boy?”

“Don’t call him that,” Kiyoomi snaps.

“Quite possessive aren’t we?”

“You’re lowering _my_ standards when you insult the guy I sleep with. Anyway be helpful this once.”

Kiyoomi painstakingly recounts the incident to Motoya, endures his mocking and his teasing, and maintains his faith in his cousin until the very end.

“Damn you _really_ messed up,” Motoya whistles, and Kiyoomi sighs. “You know that don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” Kiyoomi huffs annoyed. “Well what should I do?”

There’s a pause as Motoya ponders the situation on the other side of the line, and then;

“I hear angry sex is great!”

Kiyoomi hangs up.

Kiyoomi reaches Atsumu’s apartment and waits. He’s nervous, this is not the first time he’s been to Atsumu’s place, he and Meian had once dragged a shit faced Atsumu drunk on one too many beers, back to his place. Well, Meian had. Kiyoomi had opened the door for them, he wasn’t about to touch Miya’s sweaty alcohol smelling body.

He’s too early; Atsumu doesn’t seem to have arrived just yet so Kiyoomi paces the floor and starts making up the conversation, if everything were to proceed _ideally_.

He supposes an apology is the best opening to ensure he’d be invited in. And because it’s the decent thing to do, he reminds himself.

 _I hear angry sex is great_.

Curse his cousin. Curse Komori Motoya the damn creep for ever putting such words into Kiyoomi’s head.

When Kiyoomi had first fantasized about sex with Miya Atsumu, he had always supposed that Miya would be the aggressive type, making up for things he can’t control like his lackluster humor, and his in born natural sense of assholery, with absolute control in things he does have power over, like volleyball. Or sex. That had been part of the appeal. For a man that needed absolute silence when serving, whose gut instinct is to pummel his brother (and get pummeled in return) every time they have a disagreement, who lives every day like there’s no tomorrow, and no yesterday, for someone so uncaring of negativity and so open to resorting to condescension when attitudes don’t align with his own ideals, Kiyoomi had been sure that his volleyball habits would bleed into the bedroom. That he would be demanding and aggressive.

In fact, it always comes as a surprise when people assume _he’s_ the one with control issues. Kiyoomi is a staunch believer that some things just aren’t meant to be. Effort, effort and even more effort is necessary and yet victory is a fickle thing.

Atsumu doesn’t believe in luck. Atsumu needs everything to work exactly how he envisions it, needs the audience quiet to ogle his flashy plays and is ruthless when he’s denied what he feels he’s entitled to. _I’m controlling them all in the clench of my fist,_ he recalls Atsumu telling an interviewer smugly. _I’ve got all these monster hitters dancing to my tune._

On actually having sex with Miya he’d been surprised, pleasantly so, but surprised nonetheless. Atsumu was diligent and careful, making sure to always ask Kiyoomi if he were fine, making sure everything was perfect. That may be some form of control leaking through the crevices too, but _this_ Atsumu was soft. _This_ Atsumu was new. And on seeing the heat in Atsumu’s eyes back in the locker room, and then the parking lot, a gaze he had never been subjected to but had heard many other people talk about, Kiyoomi wants to _know._ It’s twisted, but he wants it.

“What are you doing here?”

Years of practice helps him maintain his poker face even though his heart lurches so violently, he gets heart burn.

“Waiting for you,” Kiyoomi responds coolly.

“Not in the mood,” Atsumu says not looking at him. He unlocks the door to his apartment and steps in.

“We have plans today.”

“I told you I’m not in the mood.”

Apology, Kiyoomi remembers. He knows…he knows but-

  
“Can’t even keep your promises Miya?”

Atsumu’s eyes flash in rage as he whips around to meet Kiyoomi’s gaze.

“Promises huh?” he says bitterly. Coldness trickles into the space between them, as Atsumu’s eyes grow sharper and all traces of softness disappear from the lines of his face.

“Hey Kiyoomi? I promise you, if you step foot into this apartment, I’m going to fuck you within an inch of your life,” he vows voice low and dangerous.

Kiyoomi’s heart starts working in overdrive, he’s poking a monster and he’s not going to come out unscathed. Kiyoomi isn’t used to risks. He always goes in absolutely sure of his gains. Now however, this is unknown territory. He’s deliberately ignoring all the stop signs because he’s sure of one thing. Miya Atsumu always keeps his promises.

Palms clammy, mouth dry and heart thundering in his chest, he steps into Atsumu’s apartment.

“Did you shower?” Atsumu asks. There’s a noticeable lack of emotion in his voice, none of the usual warmth; no crinkled eyes or glistening teeth. Kiyoomi shouldn’t be turned on, should quit right now, but he’s never been one to give up what he’s started and he’s determined to see things through.

“After practice,” he replies hoarsely. Atsumu doesn’t acknowledge him but leaves him there in the living room and makes his way towards the end of the corridor. Miya’s place is not as extravagant as he’d pictured it to be; in fact it’s quite simple, a round oak table, a brown leather couch and a matching table, a moderately sized TV. The round table is new, Kiyoomi can tell by the fresh smell of polished wood. The couch looks worn out; Kiyoomi supposes even if Atsumu spends most of his time at practice or away games, his nightly trysts probably happen on the couch. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to go anywhere near it.

Atsumu returns with a bottle of lube and a blanket, and tosses them carelessly on the table.

“Get yourself ready for me,” he says, and walks off without sparing Kiyoomi a backward glance.

This is a terrible idea, Kiyoomi realizes. This is idiotic, how the hell did he rope himself into this? His cheeks heat up as he regards the bottle of lube. He’s never prepped himself before; even with his ex-boyfriend, he had clumsily done it for Kiyoomi.

Might as well learn, Kiyoomi thinks and looks around. Atsumu hadn’t exactly shown him to his bedroom.

The blanket is probably to keep the mess in check, he realizes, and picks it off the table along with the lube.

There’s anger simmering beneath the surface of all this _need_ (because how dare Miya treat him like this, like he doesn’t even _want_ to fuck him when it had been _him_ that had wanted to do this all through the week), but he feels turned on, and angry that he feels turned on. This is an all-time low, he thinks sourly observing his boner. They hadn’t even done anything, Atsumu hadn’t even touched him and yet-

But he’s here now, and the prospect of Miya keeping his promise is just too appealing to let by.

In a rare bout of pettiness he grabs Atsumu’s jacket off from where it’s slung carelessly on the couch, and tosses the blanket on the floor. He doesn’t want to settle on the couch, but the other chairs are far too small to spread his legs, and the floor doesn’t feel optimal. It’s lower than Atsumu line of sight, and Kiyoomi would rather not make this too easy for Miya.

So he strides over to the new table, the most likely unused table, and spreads Miya’s jacket over it and seats himself. His heart is an animal furiously clawing at his throat and raging to get out; Kiyoomi has never felt more unsure, more turned on, in his life. He strips completely because that’s how Atsumu likes it, and tonight, he’s going with what Atsumu likes.

Uncapping the lube he slathers it over his fingers generously, and stretches his legs as far as they can go.

 _Please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please don’t come in_ and a quieter, foreign voice _look at me, look at me, look at me._

Kiyoomi shuts his eyes tight, and presses a slick index finger to his entrance. It goes in smoothly; it doesn’t feel good but it’s not too bad either. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and works his finger in and out of his hole, trying to build a rhythm and trying to recreate the feel of Atsumu- of his rough fingertips, of his comforting presence. Kiyoomi stretches himself, and enters the second. It’s a tight fit, he involuntarily clenches over his digits and groans out loud, throwing his head back, and tries to pace his breathing. His fingers slide along each other and in the quiet din, the squelching noises sound all the more filthy. He settles back on one elbow and raises both knees almost at level with his chest, scissoring himself open.

It’s torture. Beads of sweat roll down his face and his arms tremble with the effort to hold position and to not give up and completely lie down on the table. His fingers take on an almost brutal pace; once or twice he’s almost sure he grazed that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves-

“Add another finger.”

Kiyoomi gasps and lurches forward, elbows hitting the table and sending tremors through his body.

“Stretch yourself out more,” Atsumu says leaning against the wall, voice dispassionate. The only sign that he’s affected are his eyes; dark, irises completely swallowed.

“Do it properly, because I won’t bother checking.”

 _I hate you,_ Kiyoomi thinks desperately, uncurling another finger inside him and pushing at his walls. The sad truth is, it’s nowhere _near_ the truth. Right now he’s sure, he’s absolutely certain, that there’s one thing Miya can give him- one thing _only_ Miya Atsumu can give him.

Atsumu approaches him, hands in the pockets of his low rise shorts, and then halts.

His eyes narrow as he takes in his jacket underneath Kiyoomi’s ass, getting wetter and stickier as Kiyoomi sloppily fingers himself open.

“Oh?”

It’s that goddamn voice, Kiyoomi thinks albeit desperate as his cock visibly twitches and Atsumu takes it in.

Atsumu tugs at the hand buried inside him, and pulls Kiyoomi straight off the table. For a second they stare at each other, until Atsumu tugs his jacket to the edge of the table, and bends Kiyoomi over it.

“Bed,” Kiyoomi gasps. “Bed, A-Atsumu-“

“Omi kun, you broke another rule.”

They’d agreed on only having sex at Kiyoomi’s place, Kiyoomi had set that rule himself.

“You made that rule,” Atsumu reminds him, stroking his ass slowly, menacingly, “And you broke it.”

For a second Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu might just spank him, his hand twitches on Kiyoomi’s ass cheek and the thought of being spanked by a hand that does serves at a speed of 110 kilometers per hour is a daunting one but Atsumu slides his hands higher, over his abdomen pinching at his nipples. Kiyoomi groans and juts back at Atsumu’s crotch, and he’s granted a slight hiss. Atsumu isn’t as unaffected as he makes it seem.

“Today,” Atsumu says voice low but clear, right into Kiyoomi’s ear, “when you want me to stop, tell me to stop. I won’t be asking you, do you understand?”

Kiyoomi nods and breathes hard and fast. Something is coming, he can feel it-

Atsumu bends him over, cheek pressed against the table and detaches from him completely, and simply walks away. Kiyoomi isn’t sure what’s expected of him, so he clenches his fists and shuts his eyes, and waits.

When Atsumu returns, Kiyoomi hears the telltale crinkle of a condom wrapper being torn. Kiyoomi realizes this is the first time he’s not going to be seeing Miya’s face when they fuck. This would be the first time Atsumu _didn’t_ kiss him before sex.

His body tightens in anticipation as Atsumu nudges his feet further apart with his own, while his heart feels heavy, just a little bit, at the fact that Atsumu’s lips weren’t anywhere near his body today, and it feels like a loss.

Coarse fingers part his ass cheeks and Kiyoomi’s breath hitches when he feels his hole quivering over nothing just yet, the lube trickling down his thigh…

And then Atsumu thrusts in and sheaths himself in one go, and Kiyoomi makes a sound that is not quite human, not a sound he had ever made before. Atsumu doesn’t ask if he’s okay but plants a firm hand on the little of his back and pulls out completely before entering him to the hilt. Kiyoomi moans loud and high pitched as Atsumu pulls out as abruptly as he’d entered and thrusts in again, with more force, causing the table to creak beneath them.

There’s moisture trickling down the side of Kiyoomi’s face, and with each punishing thrust his mouth lets out a series of punched noises, he can’t help it, his body isn’t his own and at the moment he doesn’t mind it very much. Atsumu fucks him so hard the table, around 50 kg of pure oak, starts to inch away from its position.

Atsumu pauses only to reposition Kiyoomi again, who can do nothing but allow himself to be handled like a pliant doll, as Atsumu fucks him into complete oblivion. His thighs tremble from holding himself up, Atsumu has one hand fisted in his hair, raising his head up and another planting his hips firmly to the table. It’s a quiet warning. _Don’t move_.

Atsumu’s thrusts puncture through him, hitting that sweet bundle of nerves again and again at a frenzied pace, and when he pulls out completely and raises Kiyoomi’s hips only to plunge into him again, Kiyoomi screams. His throat feels raw, but he can vaguely make out the garbled pleas of “Yes!” “More!” “Don’t stop, please whatever you do, don’t stop!”

They spill out of his mouth unfiltered and Kiyoomi couldn’t care less, worrying about it is for another time. Kiyoomi reaches down to touch his cock, pressed uncomfortably against his stomach, but Atsumu grabs his hand and pins it on the table.

“Cum from my cock alone,” he says and punctuates the demand with a violent jerk of his hips.

Kiyoomi’s throat feels torn, but the moans keep spilling as he gasps his way through everything Atsumu gives him, as he accepts the relentless punishing pace with which Atsumu drives into his body.

“’M close,” he whispers out hoping Atsumu can hear, but no sound of affirmation comes, so he buries his face in his shoulder as Atsumu plunges his cock inside him with terrifying precision.

Kiyoomi is teetering on the edge of the best orgasm of his life when from the corner of the room, he hears the tinkling of his ringtone.

“Ignore it,” he croaks out, but that is evidently the wrong thing to say because Atsumu pulls out completely, drawing out a huge choked out sob from Kiyoomi. He had been so close, so very close-

Atsumu returns with his phone.

“It’s from captain,” he says, and Kiyoomi doesn’t have to turn around to know that the look on Atsumu’s face is pure vindication.

“Answer it,” Atsumu coaxes, voice soft and sugary sweet.

Kiyoomi jerkily shakes his head and Atsumu tuts.

“Well if that’s how you want to-“

Kiyoomi turns around and grabs Atsumu’s face pulling it down, and takes his moment of surprise to shove his tongue inside Atsumu’s mouth.

Atsumu’s hands flail in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them, until they fall to his sides limply. Kissing Atsumu gives Kiyoomi a rush that nothing can quite fulfill. Kiyoomi kisses his cheek, his nose, his eyebrows; it feels like an unspoken ritual, and then he dives back to recapture his mouth. Neither of them realize that Kiyoomi’s phone has stopped ringing.

“You can’t do that,” Atsumu says, voice cracking.

Kiyoomi leans his head against Atsumu’s shoulder and pants out, “finish what you started.”

Atsumu grabs his chin to look him in the eyes, and then in the quiet din, another phone starts blaring.

“That’s mine,” Atsumu murmurs, reaching for the pocket of his shorts, bunched up around his knees, and pulling it out.

“Don’t worry Kiyoomi, I’ll finish what I started,” he says, and his face is just wicked.

He bends Kiyoomi over the table once again-

“Yes captain?” He chooses that moment to thrust into Kiyoomi all the way in. Kiyoomi gasps and claws at the table, willing his mouth shut, but Atsumu leans forward, his breath hitting Kiyoomi’s back, angling himself so that his cock reaches impossibly deep, and a high pitched moan escapes his lips.

The gravity of what he’d done settles in almost immediately, and he clamps his hands over his mouth turning to look back at Atsumu, already pulling out, with a sadistic grin.

“What did you think it was Cap, I’m watching TV.”

He thrusts in deep and forceful, voice completely composed while Kiyoomi burns in humiliation under him. He draws in a huge rattling breath even as Atsumu thrusts again, this time the pace quickening noticeably, and Kiyoomi hides his whimpers in the crook of his elbow, while Atsumu takes his sweet time assuring their captain that he’s fine.

“Omi kun? You think he’s here?”

Kiyoomi claws at the table, biting his lip so hard he almost draws blood, every second of Atsumu’s detached voice while he plows right into Kiyoomi’s ass, making him harder by the second; he’s so close. He wants to touch himself but if Atsumu pins his hands down again, he won’t be able to keep in the lewd sounds leaking from his throat.

“He _is_ here actually, do you want to talk to him?”

Fear races through Kiyoomi’s veins, ice cold and sharp as he realizes, he had severely underestimated Miya Atsumu. He shakes his head in desperation, trying to breathe through his nose blocked with snot, trying to see through the thick tears welling and rolling down his cheeks.

“He’s kind of busy at the moment, I’ll tell him you called-“

Kiyoomi’s cock gives a desperate lurch as the pressure builds and builds-

“’Aight, see ya Cap,” Atsumu says ramming into him as the call finally ends with a click, and he drops the phone on the table while simultaneously pulling Kiyoomi’s hand away from his mouth and lifting his body backwards in an arch as cum splatters over the table, spraying over the polished surface and all over Kiyoomi’s abs.

It’s the most violent orgasm Kiyoomi has ever had, it tears out of him, pulling a guttural sound from deep within in his chest, but he can’t quite hear it, it’s covered by the rushing sounds in his ears. He only hears the sound of his drawn out moan dying , as he slumps face forward on the table, whimpering as his hole clenches around Atsumu’s cock still buried in him.

“If you hadn’t pulled that stunt, I’d have fucked you on the couch,” Atsumu says, thumping his hand slightly on the table and stroking the material of his jacket. He’s still hard, and Kiyoomi’s hole _aches_. He breathes slowly through his mouth, grateful that Atsumu isn’t moving.

“You d-didn’t cum,” Kiyoomi chokes out, throat grating painfully with each word.

“I didn’t, yes,” Atsumu agrees quietly. And then a softer; “are you alright?” his tone isn’t warm, but it’s genuine.

Kiyoomi nods, slowly and then faster, because he cannot begin to explain how much he _needed_ -

This- this was _everything_. He had thought that sex with Atsumu couldn’t get better until he’d pissed him off, and somehow it did. The fierce animalistic frenzy was what Kiyoomi had initially anticipated and this was everything he needed and more. He decides to articulate it later, when his throat doesn’t feel like he’d been swallowing cactuses, and instead keeps nodding until Atsumu places a firm hand on the back of his neck.

 _He’s going to pull out_ , Kiyoomi realizes, and reaches back to grab Atsumu’s arm.

“You promised,” he says quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

The silence thickens as Kiyoomi turns around to leans on the table, resting against his elbows, and Atsumu’s hands perch on either side of the table next to Kiyoomi’s waist.

“Fuck you,” Atsumu hisses pulling out, and before Kiyoomi can retort or complain, spins him around and pushes him to leans on the table, Kiyoomi’s ass pressed uncomfortably against the ledge. Atsumu lifts him up and seats him on the table, on a spot thankfully not covered in his cum.

“Open,” Atsumu orders, and Kiyoomi leans back and lets his legs fall to the side, cheeks heating with humiliation. He hates this. Kiyoomi hates enjoying this so much, it’s fucked up.

Atsumu slides right into Kiyoomi again, and Kiyoomi gasps; he’s so sore but the feeling of being full, is all encompassing. Atsumu yanks him forward, and Kiyoomi wraps his legs around his waist on instinct allowing himself to be lifted. Atsumu’s body is warm, and now that he’s pressed against his chest, Kiyoomi can feel his heartbeat thundering rapidly, can see the dull blush over his cheeks, maybe spreading over his chest under the plain black tee he’s donned. He presses his face to Atsumu’s neck and inhales, as Atsumu carries him past a dimly lit corridor. Atsumu flinches a little as his lips brush his bare skin but makes no comment.

He enters what Kiyoomi realizes is his bedroom and kicks the door closed with his foot before dropping Kiyoomi on the bed and pinning his arms to the mattress.

“Don’t touch me,” Atsumu mutters and Kiyoomi nods mutely.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Atsumu says and that’s the only warning Kiyoomi gets before Atsumu pulls out and rams in. Kiyoomi whimpers in overstimulation as his legs tremble and his cock lies limply against his thigh. Atsumu stares him in the eyes as he thrusts in a brutal pace, obviously for his pleasure and not Kiyoomi’s.

It’s too much, there’s a tinge of sweetness in the sensation but Kiyoomi’s nerve endings are frayed and everything just feels far more intense and he’s not allowed to touch; it’s really too much.

A sob breaks free from his throat and Atsumu halts but Kiyoomi shakes his head and beckons him to continue, whining and moaning as Atsumu’s cock grates against his walls, even as they cling to him wetly trying to keep him in.

Atsumu quickens the pace and Kiyoomi chokes out a garbled plea, he’s not sure what he’s asking but Atsumu’s saying something too-

“Why did you say that to me?” he grits out sweat dripping from his forehead onto Kiyoomi’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Kiyoomi mumbles, it’s too hard to concentrate his nerves are on fire again, and the pain is mixing with something else, it’s good too good, he’s just so full-

“Tell me,” Atsumu grunts thrusting so deep Kiyoomi feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, as his back arches almost involuntarily.

“I don’t _know,_ Ats-ah! Atsumuuu-“

“You’re hard again.”

The observation is terrifying, because that itself is giving Atsumu more power over him, and if he asks "why" again, it's over because _Kiyoomi really doesn’t know_.

But the pleasurable ache is intensifying and if Atsumu asks, he might have to bluff his way through, maybe say that he’s in love with Atsumu, yes that would get him off his back-

But for better or worse, Atsumu doesn’t ask, and instead reaches down wordlessly to grip Kiyoomi’s cock and firmly stroke it in time with his thrusts.

“ _No-Ahh!”_

Atsumu rolls his thumb over his oversensitive slit and curls the other hand around his length and Kiyoomi comes with a scream, clenching hard around Atsumu’s cock and pulling his orgasm along with it. Atsumu cums with a groan, fingers digging into Kiyoomi’s waist, head bowed and eyes clenched shut.

They breathe together for a few moments before Atsumu pulls out, as Kiyoomi whimpers in pain. Kiyoomi turns on his side and shuts his eyes, and in the sudden quiet, the sound of Atsumu slamming the door is loud and unexpected.

And everything comes rushing in.

How despicable. How low had he sunk to coerce Atsumu into sex with him _knowing_ and using the fact that he had been angry and upset? The disgust rolls over him in waves as he buries his face in the pillow and breathes in its clean smell

He doesn’t hear the door opening but when it closes, it’s gentler than before.

Atsumu is his _friend,_ how could Kiyoomi have been so fucking insensitive-

Warm hands gently turn him on his back, and a wet cloth wipes over his abdomen wiping away the remnants of his cum, slides under his thigh to clean the stickiness around his ass, over his chest.

Kiyoomi tentatively raises his eyes to look in Atsumu’s and his stomach drops, because he had never expected Atsumu to look like _this_.

“What’s wrong with you, why do you look like that?” he whispers, eyes wide.

“Omi kun,” Atsumu says brokenly, “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, please forgive me.” Atsumu looks devastated, and Kiyoomi has a vague idea of why but he can’t quite articulate his thoughts at the moment and can only helplessly listen as Atsumu stumbles over words to apologize.

“There’s no excuse,” he says hoarsely, “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt a lot? I shouldn’t have touched you, I’m so sorry-“

Kiyoomi shakes his head vigorously. How can he say this is the best sex he’s ever had without giving off the wrong impression? How can he say just how amazing tonight was, how liberating it had felt, how validated he had felt when he had seen Atsumu in all his natural glory. Then again nothing quite beats the first time they’d had sex…when Atsumu had sucked out all the fear and stigma he’d had relating to sex, how he had completely rewritten what sex meant to Kiyoomi.

Atsumu is still apologizing, and Kiyoomi needs to get away because he has the ridiculous urge to kiss Atsumu and _thank_ him like he’d done the first time they’d had sex. He rolls away and stands up to head to the bathroom, and promptly falls to his knees. Pain lances through his spine, around his hips and his hole _stings_. He’s incredibly sore.

Atsumu is by his side in a flash, apologies falling from his lips, Kiyoomi can’t recall a time he’d actually been apologized to by Miya before but now he seems to be making up for a lifetime’s lack.

Atsumu attempts to lift him up, but Kiyoomi needs to get this off his chest right now before the idiot decides to bash his head into a wall or do something equally dramatic.

He sits on the floor, knees bent to the side, and yanks Atsumu in by the shirt.

“It was fine,” he mumbles.

“Huh?” Atsumu asks confused.

“The sex,” Kiyoomi says, willing himself to not blush. “The sex was fine.”

“Omi kun,” Atsumu begins, eyes laced with pain, “hit me or something- seriously- like punch me-“

“You moron,” Kiyoomi snaps. His ass really hurts. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had and when I can walk, I want you to do it again.”

Oh well, shit.

Kiyoomi sees Atsumu’s adam’s apple bob as he gulps. He wishes he could walk so he could get away from Atsumu because somehow this humiliation is something he can’t reason away.

But Atsumu slings an arm over his shoulder and hoists Kiyoomi up.

“You promise?” he mumbles.

Embarrassing. Far too intimate and extremely embarrassing.

“I promise,” Kiyoomi murmurs into his neck.

Atsumu assures Kiyoomi that he scrubbed the tub down twice, and fills in a hot bath.

“Get out, I can wash myself,” Kiyoomi tells him casually and when he sees Atsumu looking dramatically crestfallen, he knows that Atsumu is back.

Washing himself proves much harder than he’d anticipated but he manages it and then calls Atsumu when he’s done. Atsumu drapes a fluffy pillow over his hair and gently wipes, and seats him on the edge of the tub. He wipes Kiyoomi’s eyebrows, under his eyes, his ears, it’s so soothing Kiyoomi doesn’t quite realize he’s drifted off.

Before he knows it, he’s cushioned in soft warmth and he blearily opens his eyes to realize he’s on Atsumu’s bed.

“I have to go home,” Kiyoomi mumbles struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Stay for tonight,” Atsumu says softly. This is dangerous. This is a teetering on dangerous territory.

“No way,” Kiyoomi grumbles struggling to sit up. He vaguely registers that he’s in Atsumu’s clothes and he hears Atsumu stumble to rectify;

“Your change of clothes were your practice clothes and I thought mine would be a little more comfortable.”

They _are_ comfortable. The pajama pants don’t quite reach his ankles but the t-shirt is airy and comfortable and smells so very… Atsumu.

“Omi kun,” Atsumu mumbles, “I’ll take the couch, just stay tonight okay?”

To be fair, making Atsumu walk him to a taxi and then stumbling across his avenue into his apartment does feel like quite the hassle…maybe, just maybe-

“Stay on your side of the bed.”

“Yes,” Atsumu agrees immediately, though his eyes widen with shock, “and don’t worry I won’t make a sound.”

“It’s good that we don’t have practice tomorrow,” Kiyoomi mumbles sleepily and turns on his side, away from Atsumu, closing his eyes.

He hears Atsumu’s murmur of assent and he’s sure he’s about to fall asleep any moment now-

But there’s something he has to do.

Without turning back, he reaches out and grips Atsumu’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He feels Atsumu squeeze his hand, and knows they’re going to be alright.

“You don’t drive people away,” he murmurs sleepily. “You draw people in. because you’re _you_. Because you’re Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi wakes up in the middle of the night with a sharp bruising ache in his rear, spreading through his spine. He groans in pain, and turns on his stomach, only to hear a scuffling sound. He looks up in alarm only to remember- he’s in Atsumu’s house, in Atsumu’s bedroom, in Atsumu’s _bed_.

“Omi kun, you okay?” he hears a groggy voice call out, and he croaks in assent. But the bed dips lightly, and though Kiyoomi can’t see much except the outlines of objects in the room, he can sense that Atsumu has gotten up.

There are tentative hands touching his waist and he jumps in alarm, but then he hears Atsumu’s voice, “Shh, it’s okay, it’s me,” and realizes he’s kneeling on the floor by Kiyoomi’s side.

“You in any pain?” Atsumu asks softly stroking Kiyoomi’s back under the shirt.

“Just some mild discomfort,” Kiyoomi mumbles. He’s not sure how to respond to this. Atsumu continuously surprises him, and right now he’s grateful that Atsumu can’t see him.

“I’ll be back,” Atsumu murmurs and he hears footsteps leaving the room, and sees the light on the bathroom being turned on.

When Atsumu returns, Kiyoomi quickly tells him to keep the lights of the room off, and he obliges.

Atsumu places a hot towel on his back, and gently rubs the sensitive skin, before applying more pressure and massaging him, slowly, carefully. Kiyoomi buries his face in his pillow and doesn’t say a word, just lets Atsumu towel the expanse of his back, before dipping under his pants and massaging him under there too.

Kiyoomi feels the waistband of his pants being lowered, and he jerks up in panic but Atsumu kisses his shoulder and murmurs, “relax. Trust me.”

He rubs at Kiyoomi’s sore limbs and it’s just so comfortable, so relaxing, so very _safe_ , Kiyoomi isn’t sure when Atsumu stops massaging him, but the last things he registers before he drifts away again, are warm lips tracing his spine, and soft murmurs against his skin.

Kiyoomi leaves Atsumu's apartment as soon as dawn hits. On entering his apartment, he feels marginally better, and strolls around to get used to the stinging soreness. Atsumu had been as cheerful as ever in the morning, even though Kiyoomi had threatened to kill him for doing this to his body (“cute as ever Omi kun”, “aren’t you the grumpiest thing ever in the morning?”). He can’t stop smiling; he’s going to have to look up if it’s a symptom, a sickness of some kind.

That night, as he sneaks under his covers he comes to a startling realization, one that does not bode well. He gets used to things far too easily; his bed feels huge. His bed, without At- without someone in it, isn’t as comforting as it used to be. Sleep comes much later than he’d anticipated.

_“Rebound,” someone yells, and Kiyoomi leaps into the air again. He’s blocked, again. He can’t do this._

_“One more time, come on now Omi kun,”Atsumu’s smile is peculiar._

_“I can’t,” Kiyoomi whispers desperately. “I can’t anymore.”_

_“One more time, Kiyoomi.” The court has disappeared. It’s just him and Atsumu._

_“I know you can do it, just one more baby.” Atsumu’s voice is laced in something very dangerous-_

Kiyoomi wakes up with a violent jerk. He’s hard. He’s very, very hard.

Kiyoomi buries his head in his pillow and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Kiyoomi is everything. It's when the stoic one starts FEELING


	4. Chapter 4

The next time they see each other is at practice, and Kiyoomi’s dream is still fresh in his mind. The physical ache had subdued but there is an ever persistent feeling, hot and _urgent_ , nudging at his mind.

Everyone else carries on with practice as usual, but Kiyoomi’s blood races in his veins when Hinata screams “rebound!” and “One more time!” and the Molten ball gets flattened like a pancake when Hinata runs in for another shot and nails it to perfection. Every moving player dripping sweat on the shiny floor, thrumming with vibrant _energy_ seems to be mocking Kiyoomi; it feels like the sport of volleyball itself is just a huge call out to the big, dirty truth of him dreaming not-so-lewd dreams of volleyball and Atsumu, and somehow everything _vibrates_ with sex.

“Omi kun, you good?” Atsumu asks patting him on the arm, and Kiyoomi jerks away instinctively.

“Peachy,” Kiyoomi mutters and realizes that’s not the right thing to say at all.

“Sounds super unusual coming from you,” Atsumu says blinking, toweling his face while one eyebrow rises and disappears beneath his bangs. It’s stupidly attractive.

“You need to get your hair cut, it’s getting long,” Kiyoomi says instead, trying to snap himself out of it, but Atsumu grins big and wide and ignorant of all the turmoil boiling within Kiyoomi and he’s momentarily shaken.

“You think so?” Atsumu asks eagerly. “I was thinking of letting my hair grow a little longer, and then going full natural, would you like that?”

He’s talking as if Kiyoomi’s opinion on his hair actually matters, as if he won’t end up styling his hair the way he wants to in the end. And it’s _working_ because Kiyoomi finds himself buying it, that Atsumu would actually change something for him, and the realization is abrupt and dangerous; he immediately decides to nip it in the bud.

“I don’t really care, but I probably won’t be able to tell you apart from Osamu,” he hums, bored.

He chances a glance at Atsumu and feels his stomach drop at the slightly crestfallen look on his face.

“You wouldn’t be able to tell us apart?”

Of course he would. Kiyoomi would be able to tell when Atsumu is in his vicinity by just sniffing for a whiff of peppermint, by the adamant way he parts his hair to his right, by his coarse fingers and well maintained nails, by the thorough way he washes his hands and the truly bizarre exercises he comes up with for himself because Atsumu is someone that can never quite be satiated. Kiyoomi can tell it’s Atsumu by the sparkle in his eyes every time he sees a successful spike, and quite recently, by the clench of his fist every time a reporter gets too close to Kiyoomi’s personal space.

Instead he shrugs.

“Why do you call him Osamu?”

“Huh?”

Atsumu steps closer to him. He’s two inches shorter but somehow makes up for the lack, with his ever expanding presence and his broad shoulders and rippling muscles.

“You always call me ‘Miya’, except when we,” he glances around nervously as Hinata shoots past them to jump into Bokuto’s open arms, “-when we have sex.”

Atsumu is blushing. Kiyoomi likes it when Atsumu blushes. Times like these are the only instances he gets to see Atsumu flustered, the only time he gets to have the upper hand (what with Atsumu claiming all his spikes as _his_ points, and the complete mess he’s reduced to in bed owing to the deprivation of touch for a majority of his life). Atsumu blushing reminds him that he has a semblance of control here too, that his prided poker face does wonders when Atsumu isn’t in any condition to put his hands on him and wreck him.

“I call you Miya, but call him Osamu to make sure there’s no confusion,” he says simply, and bends to pull up his kneepads, reveling in the slight downturn of Atsumu’s lips.

“You’re really mean to me Omi kun, y’know that?” Atsumu says sulkily, and Kiyoomi raises a delicate eyebrow and just huffs out an annoyed, “don’t be ridiculous Miya.”

For all the smugness he’d shown, he’s repaid tenfold when Atsumu sets him up for a spike and he’s blocked, and his dream comes rushing in all over again.

 _One more time Kiyoomi_.

Kiyoomi suffers through practice, and avoids looking Atsumu in the eye.

But there’s only so much one can do to hide from Miya Atsumu, because later that evening, he arrives at Kiyoomi’s doorstep, curls damp and dripping moisture on the ‘Welcome’ carpet, hundred watt smile etched on his face.

Kiyoomi wants to mention his dream, the ever present burning thrum in his veins when Atsumu playfully pins him against a wall and jokingly threatens to rub his thigh on Kiyoomi’s crotch until he comes, without giving him anything else at all, but Atsumu never follows through, and instead lifts him into his arms in what can only be called a _tender_ manner and carries Kiyoomi to his room. Atsumu lavishes him with attention but the dream doesn’t go away and Kiyoomi wonders what Atsumu would sound like, voice tilted in condescension, without actually having to worry about whether he’d ruined their friendship.

Some rules they’d set up fade to black, but the most important remain. Atsumu never pities him even when Kiyoomi limps to his coffee table and threatens to kill him for the damage he’d inflicted, and Kiyoomi never slips up, because Miya doesn’t exist in bed. Atsumu does.

(And of course the little rules like douching exist- it’ll be a cold day in hell before he decides to be _spontaneous_ ).

Soon two out of their four days are spent at Atsumu’s house. Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice how easily they’d transitioned, but any night preceding a day off would be spent at Kiyoomi’s to make sure he wouldn’t have to stay the night at Atsumu’s when he fucks him rough and hard and has him limping the next day.

On the days where there’d be practice the next morning, Atsumu would be gentle, soothing, and it isn’t bad, not by any stretch, but it is intimate in a way that is borderline confusing. Kiyoomi wants to point it out, the oddly soft way Atsumu would fuck him, always missionary, with soft kisses on his nose, the moles above his eyebrow, the careful way he swipes a strand of hair behind Kiyoomi’s ear.

On the weekends, Atsumu would bend him in half and make him scream, and make it very clear that he enjoyed every second of it.

After they’d had sex at Kiyoomi’s one day, seeing Atsumu hesitate at the door makes Kiyoomi realize something. When Atsumu comes over the next time, Kiyoomi’s stacked dozens of DVDs in the little rack by the TV.

“Just wanted something to watch, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Kiyoomi says when Atsumu opens his mouth to speak, and he shuts his mouth and grins, and settles on his side of the couch. Kiyoomi brings popcorn, and only occasionally observes Miya Atsumu because now, there’s stuff to watch on TV. New stuff. It’s fun.

Kiyoomi still doesn’t bring up the dream.

Until he does.

They’re at Atsumu’s place this time. As soon as Kiyoomi enters, he follows the smell of devilled prawns right into the kitchen.

It’s a trap.

Atsumu wraps his arms around his waist and settles his head on his shoulder before placing a little peck on his cheek. One day Kiyoomi will ask Motoya if this is what fuck buddies do. One day, he will push Miya’s arms aside and demand him to do exactly as Kiyoomi wishes.

One day.

For now Kiyoomi leans back into the embrace and then turns around in Atsumu’s arms, wrapping his own around Atsumu’s shoulders and inhaling into his neck.

“Practice was rough, are you tired?” Atsumu asks rubbing his sides soothingly, and Kiyoomi feels soft lips pressing into his hair. He’s really too much. Kiyoomi can’t stand it. He really can’t. He lifts his head and Atsumu cracks a smile at the silent demand and presses warm kisses to each of the moles on his forehead, and another one (completely unwarranted) on his shoulder.

“Hey Omi kun.” Kiyoomi hums in response.

“Let’s have sex on the kitchen counter,” Atsumu murmurs into his neck, and Kiyoomi jerks back scandalized. Just like that the soft atmosphere dissipates and the insistent thrum in Kiyoomi’s veins returns, as Atsumu leans back to read his face.

“You cook food here,” he says but he doesn’t sound disgusted enough. “You _cook food_ here,” he repeats in what he hopes is a heated tone, but Atsumu nods excitedly and Kiyoomi’s body betrays him. His heart skips a beat because when it comes to things like this, Atsumu always gets what he wants, which means Kiyoomi gets what _he_ wants but in a more twisted, far-from-straightforward way and that means they’re definitely having sex on the kitchen counter.

“Omi kun,” Atsumu coaxes stepping forward. “Omi kun please, for me. Omi kun I’ve always wanted to do this-“

“You’ve never?” Kiyoomi interrupts heart lurching. “Not with anyone else?”

Atsumu shakes his head and Kiyoomi feels himself soaring. Oh they’re _definitely_ having sex on the kitchen counter.

Atsumu is fully naked as well this time, and he has Kiyoomi bent over the counter, cock fully sheathed in Kiyoomi’s heated hole, each thrust making Kiyoomi claw at the polished marble. It’s horribly uncomfortable, but there’s light streaming through the window and every time Kiyoomi clings to Atsumu’s cock, Atsumu gives out a groan of elation.

“Omi oh God, fuck! I wish you could see yourself-”

“Fuck, look at you, shit I can’t believe this, we should fuck in day time all the time-“

“You sound delicious-”

Kiyoomi keens at that, back arching as Atsumu grunts behind him, pressing him further into the cold surface, fingers gripping his hips with almost desperately-

Kiyoomi wants Atsumu to touch his cock, he’s sure Atsumu wouldn’t mind if he touched his own this time, the atmosphere is different from before. But he wants Atsumu; it’s almost repulsive how reliant he is on Atsumu’s touch. He listens to the sound of skin slapping skin and moans lewdly, lightly thumping his fist on the counter and almost knocking over bottle of lube.

“Did you know that prawns are a powerful aphrodisiac?”

Kiyoomi scrunches his eyebrows.

“T-they are?” he grits out, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Atsumu’s thrusts ramp up to an animalistic frenzy.

“No I made that up- _shiiiit_ fuck! God you’re so-hng- so fuckin’ smart. I’m so lucky you let me fuck you.”

Kiyoomi reaches a hand and smacks him on the head but he can’t help coloring at his words; they’re crude and yet Kiyoomi feels flattered. He has the weirdest urge to fish for more compliments (“What about my hair?” “I don’t know why but people have told me I look like a Greek statue-“ “Do you think my legs are _too_ long, not that your opinion matters-“) and another equally mystifying urge to please Atsumu more. _You can come in me if you want_.

He grabs a hold of himself before he starts acting like a hormonal needy teenager willing to risk it all for a romantic relationship-

Kiyoomi stills in Atsumu’s arms.

“Hey Omi, you good babe?”

There’s silence where something that feels horribly like a wave of truth begins creeping up Kiyoomi’s spine.

“Tsumu grab your own shit next time I’m fucking tired of getting your groceries-“

They swivel around comically slow, just in time to see Miya Osamu drop the paper bag in his hands, contents and all onto the polished floor. There’s a cracking sound, and Kiyoomi thinks _well there goes the eggs_ but Atsumu mumbles, ‘that’s the sound of his mind breaking.”  
  


It certainly seems so because Osamu runs out of the apartment rubbing furiously at his eyes and yelling: “What the _fuck?!_ What the fuck, _please God,_ shit! What the fuck!”

There’s ringing silence in the apartment. Kiyoomi rounds on Atsumu.

“You absolute fucking _moron_ ,” he yells and Atsumu flinches. “You didn’t tell me your brother was coming, _fuck_!” he seethes and shoves Atsumu but winces when his cock nudges Kiyoomi from within.

“I forgot!” Atsumu says desperately, “Honestly this is all _your_ fault, not mine!”

“ _What_?” Kiyoomi asks, voice quiet but trembling with thinly veiled fury and Atsumu gulps and mumbles out a quiet, “You came in last but didn’t lock the door.”

Kiyoomi gapes but doesn’t admit to it, only buries his head in his hands.

And then Atsumu gives a little thrust and Kiyoomi gasps, almost hitting his head on the counter, mind almost imploding at the _sheer audacity_.

“Are. You. Insane?” he grits out heaving a shuddering breath.

“Well he’s gone now, so we can get back to what _we_ were doing,” Atsumu says flashing a little wink at him.

He’s still grumbling when Kiyoomi kicks him out.

“Can’t believe you’re blue balling me because of my brother,” Kiyoomi slams the door in his face. “It’s the black hair isn’t it?” he hears Atsumu’s annoyed voice, muffled through the door. He grabs Atsumu’s jacket (the new one) and slips it on along with his boxers and pants, moving to the bedroom to slam the door loudly. It’s only when he sprawls out on Atsumu’s bed that he allows himself to smile. Maybe Atsumu is cute sometimes. _Maybe_.

He hears muffled conversation in the living room.

“…I can’t get the sight of your _ass_ out of my head, you stupid fuckin’-“

“-sometimes I have my clothes on when we fuck, you just stumbled here the wrong day-“ (Kiyoomi is going to _kill_ him.

“-are you hearing yourself?! Let go, I’m leaving!” Pause. “Also, how’d you score someone like him anyway?”

“The hell does that mean?”

“He’s obviously way out of your league-“

“Fuck you ‘Samu, get out!”

The sound of loud laughter. “Well good luck, I hope this relationship lasts for your sake-“

“There’s no relationship.”

Silence.

“Does this mean he’s available?”

“ _FUCK YOU ‘SAMU_! Get out! He’s mine!”

He hears Osamu chuckle and then, “I’m never cooking here again.” And then a softer, “come over tonight, I’ll make dinner.”

Kiyoomi is sitting on his bed, arms crossed when Atsumu sheepishly enters the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he says before Kiyoomi can get a word out. “That must’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“It did,” Kiyoomi admits looking away, trying to hide the color in his cheeks. Atsumu grins and bounds over as if his apology had been accepted and perches himself on Kiyoomi’s lap. On his semi hard boner. Kiyoomi hisses and shoves him off and he lands with a thump on the floor.

“Ow, Jesus Christ why are you so violent?”

“Why are you trying to sit on my lap?” Kiyoomi hisses flushing angrily.

“I felt your boner, you don’t have to pretend,” Atsumu cackles and oh, Kiyoomi _hates_ him. He stands up, fully intent on leaving when Miya perches himself on the bed and pulls him onto his lap. His boner seems to have completely died.

Atsumu wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s body even as he squirms and tries to wiggle his way out.

“Omi kun.”

“Fuck you, let _go_ Miya.”

“Can you call me Atsumu, even when we’re,” he hesitates, “not?”

“No,” Kiyoomi replies nastily and he feels Atsumu’s arms noticeably tense. For a second he’s worried about whether he’d actually hurt Atsumu’s feelings in a significant way but then he feels his pout against his neck and knows that Atsumu is simply a stupidly ridiculous man.

“I’ll call you by your family name if you don’t call me by my first name,” he threatens but Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and says, “Go ahead, see if I care.”

“I won’t call you ‘Omi kun’ anymore.”

“Thank God.”

“I won’t even call you ‘Omi Omi’.”

“Yes, good.”

Atsumu whines and Kiyoomi’s lips quirk slightly.

Atsumu slips a hand down Kiyoomi’s pants and suddenly, it’s not funny.

“What are you doin-“

“Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi stills and grits his teeth. Atsumu’s grip on his cock is feather light, there’s barely enough pressure, but Kiyoomi can feel himself hardening.

“Kiyoomi. _Kiyoomi_.” He inches closer, lips brushing against the shell of Kiyoomi’s ear. “ _My_ Kiyoomi.”

A shiver runs through Kiyoomi’s body.

“Omi kun,” Atsumu whispers into his neck, hands rubbing ad tugging at his length. “Pretty, so pretty my Omi kun.”

“Atsumu-“ Kiyoomi breathes out, nails biting into Atsumu’s muscled forearms. “Atsumu what-“

“ _Sakusa_ san,” Atsumu murmurs.

Kiyoomi lurches violently and whimpers as his toes curl, digging into Atsumu’s skin.

There’s silence, while Kiyoomi tries to compose himself, tries to yank himself back to reality, but then Atsumu pulls his hand out.

“You came,” he says sounding awestruck.

Kiyoomi feels himself flush with humiliation, and Atsumu keeps _staring_.

“You always do this,” Kiyoomi says, voice cracking as he pushes and shoves at Atsumu’s chest.

“What? What did I do?” Atsumu asks confused, grabbing Kiyoomi’s wrists with his unsoiled hand, before they inflict any damage.

“You- all the time-“

“Are you mad at me because I made you _come_?” Atsumu asks incredulously.

It sounds ridiculous when he phrases it like that. The whole situation is ridiculous because when Atsumu puts his hands on him, all Kiyoomi wants is for Atsumu to wreck him, to use him, but as soon as he comes, it all fades away and he’s left feeling incredibly _bare_.

“I can never catch my bearings with you! Y-you always make me such a mess, I _hate_ you,” Kiyoomi spits out and Atsumu huffs a little laugh.

“Y’know Omi kun, it’s fine that your body reacts this way,” he murmurs pulling Kiyoomi’s squirming body into a back hug. “You’re sensitive, _of course_ you’d be, you’re making up for a lifetime’s lack. Lack of casual touches-“ he strokes Kiyoomi’s arms from his shoulders to his palms , before cupping it and lifting it to his mouth-

“-lack of kisses,” he presses a soft kiss to Kiyoomi’s wrist, and then moves to his nape, across his shoulder blades-

“-so of course you’d want to try everything. It’s okay.”

Kiyoomi sits in silence trying to understand, attempting to quell the fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Atsumu says slowly, “that’s how I feel around you every day.”

Kiyoomi turns to look at him incredulously but wishes he didn’t, because Atsumu has a soft smile on his face that sucks the breath right out of him.

“You’re full of shit,” Kiyoomi mumbles and Atsumu leans forward to rest his chin on Kiyoomi’s shoulder.

“You’re so smart,” Atsumu breathes out, almost reverently, “and I won’t say I’m _dumb_ but every day, I feel the gap between you and me.” He pauses.

“And you’re so composed when it actually matters, I get too riled up, too aggressive on the court, but you’re always calm and so damn reasonable. So who cares if you get a little crazy here. I’m the only one that can see you. If this part of you is a secret,” he brushes a curl behind Kiyoomi’s ear, “it’s safe with me.”

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. He feels shaken, as if the world had just been tugged from under his feet. And he feels _lucky_ , which is weird because Atsumu isn’t his.

“You like it when I tell you what to do,” Atsumu says simply. It’s not a question. “You like it when I’m mean to you in bed.”

“Only sometimes,” Kiyoomi mumbles, and Atsumu smiles against his skin.

“I like the way you play volleyball,” Kiyoomi confides and it’s not relevant to their bedroom habits…except it _is_.

“Am I not the same person when we’re- uh- together?” Atsumu asks curiously.

“I don’t know,” Kiyoomi admits honestly. It feels like he’s discovering new parts to Atsumu, so many that if he pieces them together he may still never get the full picture.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” Atsumu promises; Atsumu has always been selfless.

He raises his soiled hand, still stained with Kiyoomi’s come and brings it to Kiyoomi’s mouth.

“It’s drying on my hand,” he says quietly. “Help me clean it up.”

“Hey Omi kun,” Atsumu says looking up from his phone later. “Are prawns and shrimp the same thing? Because shrimp is an aphrodisiac!” he sounds excited.

“Huh,” Kiyoomi says raising and eyebrow. “Make oysters next time.”

“See you at practice Omi kun,” Atsumu waves at him from the door, and Kiyoomi isn’t sure why he expects a goodbye kiss. It feels wrong to not have one.

He walks two, three steps before he rushes towards Atsumu’s door right before it closes and wedges a foot-

“Omi kun,” Atsumu says surprised. “What’s wrong-“

“Miya,” Kiyoomi pants. “I had a dream.”

During practice the next day, Kiyoomi hands Atsumu the list he’d requested.

Atsumu unfurls the folded piece of paper and blushes, eyes flitting around as if they’re doing something truly scandalous.

Which he supposes they are.

Atsumu taps at the space besides him, and Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose, but spreads his towel over the floor and seats himself.

“So you want to try all of this huh,” Atsumu murmurs. “No spanking?” he asks suddenly.

Kiyoomi shrugs.

“I don’t really see the appeal,” he says simply.

“Hmm, I think you’d like it though,” Atsumu murmurs, mostly to himself.

“Put it into the list then. I trust you,” Kiyoomi says looking away.

“Wait really? So are you maybe open to like, toys? Sounding mayb-“

“Fuck no,” Kiyoomi hisses. “Nothing, and I repeat, _nothing_ is ever going inside my dick. Got that?”

“Jesus, okay,” Atsumu mumbles pouting, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Kiyoomi doesn’t like.

“Okay do you want to try blindfolding today?” Atsumu asks turning to look at him, and Kiyoomi nods grimly. What he’d _actually_ like, is something a bit more intense but he supposes he’ll have to follow Atsumu’s pace here.

That night, Atsumu covers his eyes with a blindfold, and worships his body from his toes, to the moles perched on his forehead. The sensation is intense, that’s to be sure, because Kiyoomi doesn’t know where Atsumu would target next but he also knows _Atsumu_. They have practice the next day, and therefore Atsumu’s movements are mostly predictable and while Kiyoomi’s insides _do_ twist in anticipation, there’s no bite of fear.

He had wanted Kiyoomi to try handcuffs too but Kiyoomi had seriously considered it and deemed it unnecessary; he never really moved if Atsumu told him not to. It was almost like his body was fine tuned to responding to Atsumu’s words. He's less hesitant admitting it now.

After Atsumu’s done mapping every inch of the front of Kiyoomi’s body, Atsumu takes the mask off to see how he’s doing.

“That’s all?” Kiyoomi asks disappointed, despite having come into Atsumu’s mouth not two minutes ago. “I thought you were going to fuck me while I was wearing this mask.”

Atsumu flushes all the way up to his roots and it’s quite the pretty picture.

“Are you blushing like a virginal maid because I insulted your BDSM practices or because I told you I thought you were going to fu-“

“I was trying to get you used to the sensation, I do have something intense planned but it’s going to be hard to bear if you’ve never done _anything_ -“

“Stop changing the subject. Why are you blushing?”

“I’m _not_ blushing, this is what I look like-“

Kiyoomi hooks a leg around his waist and flips them over to straddle him, and pins his arms to the bed.

“Are you flustered because I want you to fuck me?” he whispers, leaning in. “I want you inside me all the time, is that what you want to hear Atsumu?”

“N-no, get _off-_ “

Kiyoomi bites his nose because it feels like the right time to do something as ridiculous as biting someone’s nose and Atsumu stares at him flabbergasted.

“Maybe one day I’ll let you do me raw,” he murmurs into Atsumu’s ear, “and you can fill me to the brim with your-“

“Would you _stop_?!” Atsumu yells flushing a deep tomato red; he might actually stay that colour for a while.

Kiyoomi flops on his chest and laughs the hardest he has in a while.

When they see each other in practice next time, Atsumu motions him over and Kiyoomi moves towards him scowling at the liberties he seems to be taking as of late.

“Omi kun, for the next two days, go straight home after practice. Make sure to eat full meals right on time, and go to sleep early.”

Kiyoomi rears back confused, and Atsumu explains, “You need your stamina. I’ve been waiting for a day without morning practice, and a day’s rest afterwards, so how about this Friday?”

Kiyoomi’s throat feels dry. Atsumu grips him by the wrist and seats him on a bench, and tells him the plan.

“Come here,” Atsumu motions, voice light.

It’s when Atsumu deliberately softens his voice that Kiyoomi actually realizes he’s playing a dangerous game. _There are safewords though, there’s nothing truly dangerous about it._

But when Atsumu, still fully clothed, pats his knee in what is clearly an invitation, no, an order, Kiyoomi can’t help the slight shaking, the tremors running through his body.

“Are you scared?” Atsumu asks quietly when he walks up to him.

“It feels different from before,” Kiyoomi mumbles. There’s a silence where Atsumu contemplates him, running his eyes from his cock, stiff and rock hard against his stomach, past his heaving chest and pebbled nipples, to the slope of his throat before finally meeting his eyes.

“The first thing you should learn,” Atsumu says softly, “is to answer a question directly.”

Kiyoomi represses a shudder; he knows he asked for this, but he has a wild urge to break the heavily charged atmosphere, try to put Miya in his place, but he can’t because his palms are sweaty, and he can feel a pulse pressing erratically against his fingertips as he tries to regain his bearings.

“One more time Kiyoomi. Are you scared?”

“Yes, a little bit,” Kiyoomi mumbles, and Atsumu leans forward to hold his wrists turning them palm upwards.

“You have to tell me exactly how you feel, or I won’t know. Communicating is very important. But I’d appreciate if you were a little less snarky today,” Atsumu says, planting soft kisses to the smooth skin of each palm. Atsumu lets go, and Kiyoomi’s hands fall limply to the sides.

“First of all, I won’t do anything that’s not on your list,” Atsumu assures him. “Secondly, safewords are really important. Remind me your safewords again.”

“Red. Yellow. Green,” Kiyoomi says, throat dry.

“Do you want some water?”

“Yes please,” he says, and blushes when Atsumu smiles.

“I won’t stop even if you beg me to, and you definitely will, so remember to safeword if it feels like too much, you hear me?”

Kiyoomi drinks the water Atsumu had given him sloppily, and sets the glass down a little louder than he’d expected.

“I understand,” he says, and Atsumu taps his knee once again. This time Kiyoomi wordlessly lies down and sprawls across Atsumu’s lap, his legs spread out on the bed. Atsumu tugs at his arm, and he shifts forward, so that his achingly hard crotch is pressed against Atsumu’s thighs, and his ass is higher than the rest of his body.

“I’m going to set the time for 20 minutes.” Atsumu says motioning at his phone. “You are not allowed to come. If you feel like you’re about to, you tell me first. If you do come, without permission,” Atsumu pauses, “then we start the timer all over again. Have I made myself clear?”

Kiyoomi nods shakily. A resounding smack against his ass cheek has him gasping and lurching forward.

“Use your words,” Atsumu says quietly.

“I-I understand,” Kiyoomi gasps out. His throat feels choked up for some reason; Atsumu is detached again, impersonal, and his chest feels hollow because of it but there’s a rush there too, a sensation incomparable to any other in the world.

Kiyoomi hears the sound of a bottle being uncapped, the squelch as lube drips onto Atsumu’s fingers.

Atsumu starts the timer and places his phone, screen up and lit with the countdown on display, to Kiyoomi’s right.

And then rough fingers part his ass cheeks and an insistent finger presses against his hole. Atsumu presses in, stretching him, and then abruptly slips it all the way in, down to the first knuckle. Kiyoomi gasps and claws at the sheets, he can feel himself clenching around Atsumu’s finger. It doesn’t feel good. It feels like an intrusion. And yet Atsumu doesn’t move his finger, just leaves it there.

Sweat beads Kiyoomi’s forehead as he resists the urge to scream at Atsumu to move, to say that this is by no means taking him to the edge, this is just annoying. And then Atsumu presses insistently at his walls, pushing them and testing his limits, moving his finger in a circular motion. He’s missing his prostate by a lot, but Kiyoomi is sure that Atsumu knows this and mentioning it will certainly not help in the least.

And then Atsumu retracts his finger and replaces it with two. The stretch is too tight and there’s a tinge of pain, but it eases as Atsumu slides his fingers in and out and then scissors him open slowly. Atsumu is prepping him as if he’s about to fuck him, he realizes.

“Are you g-going to fuck me?” Kiyoomi stammers out breathlessly, and he can’t quite see his face but the reply is swift.

“Not now.” He sounds amused. Kiyoomi flushes in embarrassment at his eagerness but Atsumu doesn’t say a word, simply pushes his fingers in and loosens his hole. The squelching noises and Kiyoomi’s quiet grunts build a tandem as Atsumu quickens the pace and pulls out abruptly only to push back in with three fingers.

“I bet if I tried, I could fit my whole fist in here, what do you think Kiyoomi?” Atsumu murmurs and Kiyoomi moans high pitched and strained as his cock rubs along Atsumu’s thighs with every thrust of his fingers. And then the pace and angle changes, Kiyoomi can feel it in the insistent way it rubs along his walls, not as deep now-

“There we go,” Atsumu murmurs, and Kiyoomi whimpers as Atsumu rubs on the nub inside him, fingers dragging along him. One hand wraps casually around Kiyoomi’s throat, keeping his face upwards while Atsumu’s fingers fuck into him. Atsumu’s fingers move faster and the muscles of Kiyoomi’s ass tremble as they clench around him trying to keep him in, Kiyoomi tastes the sweat on his tongue-

“Comin’,” he slurs out, “Atsu-tsumu, I’m comin- ah- _ahh_!”

Atsumu’s fingers stop abruptly, and Kiyoomi bucks back instinctively trying to fuck himself on Atsumu’s fingers as the sensation starts to dissipate. Kiyoomi inhales, deep and ragged, and wills his body to calm down. One quick glance at the timer tells him, there are eighteen minutes and twenty seven seconds left.

He will get through this, and he’ll please Atsumu, and when it’s over, Atsumu will grant him the best orgasm of his life. Kiyoomi knows this. He just has to make sure to focus on it.

“Safeword?”

“Green.”

Atsumu reenters his fingers but this time he pushes four in, and Kiyoomi realizes with a lurch that there’s no guarantee that Atsumu might not actually put his entire fist in him, there’s none at all. It sends shivers down his spine, and he absent mindedly rubs his cock on Atsumu’s thighs-

“Stay still.”

Kiyoomi’s hips halt their motion abruptly, and Atsumu pulls his fingers out to grab Kiyoomi by the hips and pulls him to a kneeling position on the bed. Atsumu rolls off the sheets, and stands up.

“On all fours,” he says softly, and Kiyoomi, face burning obliges, settling his weight on his elbows and his knees.

“Scooch over a little and part your knees, yes like that.”

Atsumu stands by the foot of the bed and places a hand on the small of Kiyoomi’s back.

“Don’t move,” he reminds him. There’s an underlying threat in his voice, Kiyoomi’s body is attuned to _this_ Atsumu, and his thighs tremble with strain and _need_ while sweat rolls of the tips of his curls and drips onto the bed.

Atsumu inserts his fingers again, this time the pace is punishing and brutal from the get go, and Kiyoomi moans loud and obscene as the lube squelches inside him and Atsumu’s fingers thrust into him, hitting that sweet spot over and over again-

“Comin’,” Kiyoomi gasps out, “Comin’ _stoop_.”

“Oh?” Atsumu asks, and now Kiyoomi realizes the tone for what it is. Condescension. He trembles around Atsumu’s fingers as he gradually slows the pace but still nudges at him insistently, urging the fiery pit within him to remain subdued until Atsumu decides when it should erupt like a volcano. The intensity fades, and there’s a pathetic sort of frustration building in Kiyoomi’s chest; precome drips onto the sheets below him in copious amounts, it’s almost like he’d come already. As soon as this thought hits him, he looks up in fear wondering if Atsumu would think the same, but Atsumu dismisses the mess and instead pulls his fingers out, and nudges at his frenulum with his thumb. He strokes it in little circles and hooks the thumb of his other hand into his entrance, pulling him open.

“You’ve got such a pretty hole baby, have you seen it? Maybe someday I’ll photograph it, to show you how good you look, how much you can hold inside this pretty, _pretty_ hole-“

Kiyoomi whimpers as his eyes roll to the back of his head, body keening with the praise, Atsumu’s words push him close, very close to the edge, he has half a mind to just come without warning Atsumu ignoring the consequences-

“N-now I- _Atsumuuu_!”

Atsumu moves his hands away completely.

“I’ve barely done anything at all Kiyoomi, I need you to be a little more tolerant okay? Hold out as best you can.”

Kiyoomi buries his face in the sheets and nods pathetically, his eyes prickle and he can’t breathe, not quite. Everything Atsumu touches feels on fire, and his cock nudges against his abdomen, a terrifying reminder that Atsumu hadn’t even touched him there yet- that there’s more of this torture-

Warm hands skim his back and reach under him, fingers twirling appreciatively around a pink nipple, rubbing it to a peak. Atsumu scrapes a nail across his areola, circling him and Kiyoomi tightens in anticipation for a harsh tug, but Atsumu continues scraping the nail of his index finger around his areola, ignoring the tip, and then promptly fills his ass with three fingers.

Kiyoomi screams at the sudden sensation but Atsumu doesn’t attempt to console him, instead he chooses that moment to amp up the pace and with his other hand, pinch Kiyoomi’s nipple, hard.

The tears brim and then spill over trickling down his cheeks as he inhales in an attempt to ground himself even, and wipes his face on the sheets. This makes him feel icky; there’s a line of drool dripping from his mouth, and Atsumu doesn’t give him time to compose himself, he rubs at Kiyoomi’s nipple and tugs as his fingers continue to abuse his prostate-

“I’M COMING!” Kiyoomi sobs out. “Please, I’m coming d-don’t stop-“

But that’s exactly what Atsumu does; he pulls his fingers out of Kiyoomi’s ass but continues to torturously pull at his nipples.

“Do you think you could come just from your nipples?” Atsumu asks leaning down, his breath hitting Kiyoomi’s face.

“I don’t know, I d-don’t know!” Kiyoomi moans even as more precome dribbles onto the sheets below him. It’s painful and delicious and everything Kiyoomi needs and yet his body protests at the onslaught of sensations, brought forth by a man that quite possibly doesn’t understand the amount of power he wields over Kiyoomi’s pliant, greedy body.

“St-top,” Kiyoomi whimpers as Atsumu continues to tug at his nipples. “It h-hurts, plea- Atsumuu!”

Atsumu doesn’t stop, he reaches an arm around Kiyoomi’s back and plays with the other nipple too.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs against Kiyoomi’s nape. “I haven’t forgotten this one.”

Kiyoomi cries out and writhes, but Atsumu continues undeterred, rubbing and tugging until-

“I’m going to c-come, I can’t-“

Atsumu pulls his fingers off and Kiyoomi falls onto the bed heavily, his limbs giving away under him.

“I can’t,” he mumbles brokenly. There are twelve minutes on the clock. “I can’t,” he repeats more insistently as his voice cracks. His nose is blocked, there’s snot trickling down he can sense it. Kiyoomi doesn’t wipe it on the sheets, doesn’t move, until Atsumu rolls him over and cleans his face with a paper towel.

“Safeword?” he asks, watching Kiyoomi sprawled on the bed.

“Green,” Kiyoomi mumbles; his voice sounds odd, like he has a cold. It excites him, he’ll hate himself for it later.

“Move up,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi drags himself to the middle of the bed. There’s no way he’s surviving this. His cock _aches_ , he feels so full to the brim and yet he’s denied every time.

Atsumu eases a pillow under his head, and another one under his hips.

“Don’t touch me, if you want to grab onto something, grip the pillow. Got it?”

Kiyoomi nods weakly, and lets Atsumu arrange his loose limbs. Atsumu bends his knees and places his feet flat on the bed, then settles in between his legs without touching his cock. A hot wet mouth closes over Kiyoomi’s nipple and _sucks_ and Kiyoomi cries out in pain and pleasure; there are sparks of electricity arching from his nipple all the way to his groin and even as the sensation becomes so intense that it’s more pain than pleasure so much so that Kiyoomi begs him to stop, Atsumu keeps sucking. When he removes his mouth, Kiyoomi’s nipple is swollen and flushed an angry red. Atsumu’s fingers are gentle on the other nipple compared to the harsh treatment he’s giving this one; simply rubbing slow and yet purposeful circles with his fingernails. Atsumu takes his nipple into his mouth again, and this time clamps it with his teeth, and Kiyoomi whimpers. He can feel the sharp threatening edge of Atsumu’s incisors, gently tweaking him. Atsumu captures it in between his teeth and pulls his head back slowly, pulling his nipple torturously.

“N-no,” Kiyoomi whimpers clutching at the pillows, “No please no. no no no-“ he thrashes his head on the pillow as Atsumu swoops in to brush the flat of his tongue over the bud, licking and nibbling on his sensitive skin.

It’s almost too late when Kiyoomi realizes it, but he catches himself in time.

“Coming!” he gasps out in between choked out breaths. The pillow is damp with his sweat and tears, as Atsumu pulls off and observes his work. There are teeth marks over one of Kiyoomi’s pecs and a cruel smile on Atsumu’s face he observes the canvas he’s decorating, the colors he’s painting, a sadistic artist, a cruel scientist, that’s Miya Atsumu.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, and that is surely a lie. There’s snot clogging Kiyoomi’s nose and his chest is rattling with each breath, there’s precome pooling on his abdomen and his eyes are surely red and puffy and yet- and yet Atsumu keeps staring, and then suddenly leans in to kiss him.

This is unexpected, and Kiyoomi lifts his head to respond, takes everything Atsumu gives him and tries to give everything in return. Atsumu’s tongue explores his mouth leisurely and then more insistently and Kiyoomi knows he’s being loud and sloppy but finds himself not caring because Atsumu’s mouth is everything, and his hands are warm on his cheek, stroking his eyebrows-

One hand wraps around his cock and Kiyoomi chokes into the kiss, but Atsumu swallows it even as his hand speeds up and Kiyoomi’s gasps turn into whimpers and pleas. He body lurches upward even as Atsumu’s lips leave his mouth and wander down his throat.

“Lift your legs,” Atsumu murmurs into his throat and Kiyoomi obliges without quite realizing it. Atsumu squeezes just under the tip of his cock and plunges three fingers into Kiyoomi’s hole, moving them in and out with no hesitation.

“I’m going to die,” Kiyoomi sobs out, he‘s not even sure what he’s saying anymore, only that the pressure on his cock is unbearable, he’s going to explode. “I’m scared,” he whispers, it’s terrifying; he can’t see Atsumu through his tears.

“Safeword?” Atsumu asks, and this time his voice is soft in a genuine way, like he really cares.

“G-green.”

Atsumu’s fingers speed up, even as Kiyoomi cries out a garbled “I’m going to-“ and then they slow again and Kiyoomi could _scream_ , he doesn’t deserve this treatment, he’s always been a good boy-

“Five minutes baby, just five minutes okay?”

“O-okay,” Kiyoomi mumbles, gripping the pillowcase so hard he may actually rip right through it, and Atsumu’s fingers enter him again, slowly this time but the grip on his cock is firm, insistent. _Come for me_ , it seems to say and yet Atsumu himself doesn’t share the same sentiment.

“It hurts,” Kiyoomi cries out, “Make it stop At-Atsumu, _make it stop_. Don’t stop don't stop please please-“

He gasps as Atsumu bites his nipple again-

“Comin’! Co- AAHH _nooo_.” Its silent save for Kiyoomi’s rankling sobs. “I hate you,” he sobs turning his face to the pillow. “You’re the worst. You’re the _worst_.”

Atsumu grips his hand a pulls him to a sitting position, and Kiyoomi is startled at the sudden motion. Atsumu wipes his hand on a tissue and then turns to Kiyoomi and strokes his hair. His eyes are soft.

“Just one more time okay? You’ve been so good, so very good. Just one more time baby, okay?”

Kiyoomi sniffles and nods as Atsumu tucks a curl behind his ear and sits down on the bed.

“Come here,” he says, motioning to the space in between his legs, and Kiyoomi complies. This s the last time. This is the final time.

“I want you to bend your knees and lift them to your chest and _hold it there_. Can you do that for me?”

Kiyoomi nods, because he gets to come. After this, he gets to come. He’ll willingly do anything.

“That’s a good boy,” Atsumu coos and weeks ago Kiyoomi would’ve snapped at him but now he can’t help the flush spreading through his body. “Now hurry up, don’t waste time.”

Kiyoomi lifts his legs and its much harder than he’d expected, his thighs trembled with exhaustion and his arms feel like they’re about to give away but there’s less than two minutes left. Two minutes until the best orgasm of his life.

Atsumu reaches under his thighs to wrap an arm around his cock, and gently strokes him. The pressure is not nearly enough but his body is so keyed up that even the feather light touch sends his body into a frenzy and he moans into Atsumu’s neck. Atsumu presses three fingers into his hole and immediately attacks his prostate and the feeling is too intense, the fear of breaking into pieces, of promptly exploding is illogical and yet very real.

Kiyoomi rocks his hips, he’s closing in on the edge, he knows the sensation will drift away any second but then Atsumu squeezes the base of his cock roughly and Kiyoomi cries out. “I- Atsu-“

“Hold it in Kiyoomi, do that for me will you?” Atsumu murmurs and Kiyoomi mumbles a feverish “okay, anything , just please _please-“_

Kiyoomi tugs at Atsumu’s hair, pulls at it to ground himself and then whimpers out a quiet, urgent, “I’m close-I’m so close.”

Atsumu’s fingers still and he squeezes Kiyoomi’s cock just under the tip to halt the hurtling orgasm.

For a second Kiyoomi attempts to compose himself. Then-

“Did I tell you, you could move your hands?”

Fear lances through Kiyoomi’s spine making his body run hot and cold at the same time.

Atsumu tugs Kiyoomi’s hands away from his hair.

“Did I or did I not tell you to hold your knees to your chest?”

“You did,” Kiyoomi whispers. His whole body is trembling.

Atsumu reaches out and stops the timer.

"You said you wouldn't move your hands if I told you not to. You told me handcuffs were pointless on you. Next time, I'm going to cuff your hands to your ankles." He sighs.

“What a shame Omi kun, you only had twenty seven seconds to go.” he pauses and a shiver of terror and something that feels quite like anticipation grips Kiyoomi’s body; throttles him.

“Now,” he says and he grips Kiyoomi’s jaw to angle it towards him. “How shall I punish you?”

“If it gets too much, don’t forget to safeword.”

Kiyoomi nods and then immediately, grunts out a hurried, “yes.”

Atsumu sits on the very edge of the bed, and Kiyoomi is splayed on his lap again, but his palms are flat on the floor supporting his weight while his knees are bent behind him.

“Raise your hips,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi obliges as blood thunders into his face, this position is even more humiliating than before and Atsumu has clamped his thighs around Kiyoomi’s cock. Kiyoomi shifts, and his very hard and leaking cock grazes against the inside of Atsumu’s denim clad thighs and he moans, even as Atsumu starts stroking his ass gently, fingers moving from the little divots on the small of Kiyoomi’s back, in between his ass crack and finally gripping the flesh with both his hands.

“You’re going to look so pretty,” Atsumu whispers stroking him affectionately, “I can’t wait to see your beautiful ass all red and blotchy. Omi kun,” he says leaning sideways. “This is going to be fun.”

Kiyoomi waits in anticipation for Atsumu’s hand to come crashing down on him, but it doesn’t, instead Atsumu gives his ass a few light smacks. For a second, Kiyoomi wonders if it’s to watch his ass jiggle, some odd fetish because there’s no denying Miya has some weird tendencies, but each smack against his skin feels purposeful. Atsumu parts his legs and gives him another smack, this time a little more forceful, and he rests his hand there, swiping his middle finger along the line of Kiyoomi’s crack. Another smack, on the mound just above his upper thighs, another one flat on his ass making him clench. It doesn’t feel good, but it doesn’t feel bad either, just pointless. For a second Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu is trying to take away the edge after having just denied him for nearly twenty minutes, and almost asks him why, but he doesn’t have to.

“It’s a warm up,” Atsumu murmurs stroking his tender skin. “You’re tense. Doing this brings blood flow to these right here,” he squeezes Kiyoomi’s ass cheeks and Kiyoomi flushes, “-and now it’s all warm.” Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu is talking to himself; he sounds like an evil scientist, as if Kiyoomi is simply an experiment. It makes him feel small. And very horny.

“I want you to count,” is the only warning Kiyoomi gets before Atsumu brings his hand down on his ass with a thundering clap. Kiyoomi yelps and lurches forward and almost comes on the spot; he’d forgotten that Atsumu was clamping down on him. “O-one,” he grits out. His flesh stings and prickles, he had expected it to hurt, but it still a sensation too foreign to anticipate. But his cock rubs against denim and it’s an odd balance.

“That’s a good boy.” The second is centered right at the peak of his ass; this time Atsumu has his palm cupped, and the sensation feels deeper, and it reverberates through his whole body, like a gong sounding a bell, he thinks dully. “Two,” he gasps. “T-two.”

“I heard you sweetheart.”

The next one is rough, his skin burns where Atsumu’s fingers etch their marks and the thought of being purple and red (just for Atsumu to see) drives him wild in a way he doesn’t realize it could. “Three,” he moans out. His hands tremble with the effort to hold himself, and he gives up on keeping his head upright and instead lets it loll in between his arms. From upside down he can see his precome dribbling down Atsumu’s denim trousers and making a mess on the floor.

He waits for Atsumu’s hand on him again, his skin burns, _he’s_ burning but there’s an oddly addictive feeling in the way Atsumu brings his hand down on him, his skin prickles with anticipation-

Therefore he’s wholly unprepared when Atsumu’s tongue licks over the heated flesh.

“At-Atsumu what are you-“

Atsumu rubs at his ass with his hand and strokes Kiyoomi’s back in comforting circles. Kiyoomi dips his head, heart thundering in his chest, when Atsumu brings his hand back down again on the exact same spot he’d hit before.

Kiyoomi groans and arches his back in an attempt to ground himself, to push himself into Atsumu’s warm hands but he wants to fuck down into Atsumu’s thighs too-

Atsumu parts his legs releasing the friction on Kiyoomi’s cock and he’s equal parts grateful and disheartened. This would make it easier to make sure he doesn’t come, but now Kiyoomi feels untethered.

“Kiyoom-“

“Five,” Kiyoomi says hurriedly. “Five.”

There’s a ringing silence, as sweat pools in Kiyoomi’s collarbones, he’s handed Atsumu the reins and if he wants to be cruel, then-

Atsumu hits him again in the exact same spot and Kiyoomi whimpers, eyes filling with tears. He feels so very tender, his skin feels soft, as if all the muscle he’d built through years of training had simple melted away, leaving him smooth and pliant to Atsumu’s touch. He chokes back a sob as he sniffles out a quiet, “six.”

“Four more,” Atsumu tells him. “You can do this.”

He can. He can do this. He _will_ do this.

“Go and look at yourself in the mirror, and come back,” Atsumu says quietly.

Kiyoomi isn’t sure he heard that right.

“W-what?”

“Look at yourself, and come back.”

Atsumu lifts him up into a kneeling position on the floor, and raises an eyebrow.

“I c-can’t.”

“You _can’t_.”

A full blown shudder goes through Kiyoomi’s body, and Atsumu notices. Kiyoomi lifts himself to his feet and almost stumbles, his ass aches, it’s painful and humiliating, and his cock is on the verge of exploding, but he waddles to the mirror attached to his dressing table and allows himself to look.

He looks terrible. His eyes are red rimmed and there are tear tracks sliding down his face, his nose is red as well and his hair looks positively horrendous. There are bite marks over his nipples, they’re swollen an angry red, his cock is wet, glistening under the bedroom lights.

“Turn around,” Atsumu calls from the bed, leaning back into his hands.

Kiyoomi turns around slowly. Hus ass is blotched red and swollen, there are fingerprints all over his skin, puffy at the edges, and there’s lube trickling down his thighs.

Kiyoomi swallows and meets Atsumu’s eyes across the room, and they look hungry. Walking back to him would mean he’d get devoured.

Kiyoomi goes to him anyway.

Atsumu wraps his hands around Kiyoomi’s waist and pulls him towards him.

“Itty bitty waist,” he murmurs appreciatively. “My Omi kun is so very pretty.”

And bends him over his knee.

Atsumu immediately smacks him again, and Kiyoomi lurches forward, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mewling. He’s half sure he’s drooling, everything just feels _wet_.

“Number?”

Kiyoomi racks his brain…and comes to a dead end. He doesn’t _remember_. The panic is stifling, this is impossible he never forgets, not a single detail, not a single digit-

Atsumu strokes his ass but this time, it feels menacing. Dangerous. A warning of what’s to come.

_Four more, you can do this._

“Si- seven!” Kiyoomi gasps out. “Seven!”

He doesn’t have to look to know Atsumu’s smiling. The next smack stings, but Kiyoomi’s ass is starting to feel numb. His legs tremble, and his cock dribbles precome and Atsumu keeps going.

“Eight!”

 _Smack._ Kiyoomi’s entire body lurches as he groans at the pleasure lining each smack, at the lewd sounds of skin on skin, it’s too much entirely. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but he’s never felt quite this liberated. His skin sings with each stinging sensation, and he feels himself clench as Atsumu’s fingers dip into his crack, and nudge at his hole.

“N-nine.” Atsumu pauses. Kiyoomi is too far gone to wonder why, everything feels unreal. He aches, and it feels so good.

“Hmm.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t ask the reason; he doesn’t get to, Atsumu brings his palm down with a ring of finality, and Kiyoomi moans, loud and obscene as it connects. The second it’s over Atsumu rubs his coarse hands all over Kiyoomi’s abused ass, stroking him gently. Kiyoomi feels soft kisses being planted over him, and sighs in relief, now- now he gets to c-

“You came,” Atsumu says casually, still stroking him, hands rubbing soothing circles .

Kiyoomi must have misheard.

“What?”

“You came,” Atsumu repeats motioning at his thighs and the come smeared all over the floor.

“Can’t be-“ Kiyoomi whispers, his body feels cold. There’s a distant feeling of horror looming up on him. Atsumu kisses his nape gently, and plant soft lingering kisses down the length of his spine. He massages the flesh of Kiyoomi’s bottom with precise motions and diligence, and doesn’t say a word. Kiyoomi’s cock hangs limply beneath him.

“I didn’t feel like- I didn’t realize-“

“I believe you,” Atsumu says smoothly. “After all, I didn’t tell you, you could come.”

A shiver runs through Kiyoomi’s body. He doesn’t move. He waits with bated breath for the verdict from the only person in the world that can wreck him, the only person in the world he would allow this from.

Instead Atsumu brings his lips to Kiyoomi’s forehead and leaves it there, soft and lingering, and the motion is far too intimate to play into this scene. He’s not volleyball player Miya that creeps into his bedroom personality, but he’s not the Miya he watches awful movies with either. Atsumu strokes his scalp and mumbles into his hair,

“We can stop it here, and continue later.”

Kiyoomi’s body quivers with exhaustion. He can understand why Miya had told him he’d need to be in top shape for today. But there’s _more_. He’s going to be punished, and there’s _more to go_. This day doesn’t have to end just yet.

“Let’s keep going,” he mumbles into his hands and hears Miya take a sharp inhale.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

“No,” Kiyoomi breathes out.

“And you’re going to be okay with it?”

“I’ll safeword if it’s too much,” Kiyoomi promises quietly, and Atsumu tugs at his hair slightly. He’s smiling, yet again, Kiyoomi can tell.

“Since you didn’t listen to me, and came anyway, I’m going to make you come as much as you like, until _I_ feel like you’ve had enough. What do you think?”

Kiyoomi feels faint. It feels like whiplash. Being edged and not allowed to come, and now- now he’s supposed to-

“Okay,” he says instead, and feels like a rebel, a risk taker, a daredevil.

“Okay,” Atsumu repeats. “Scooch to the middle of the bed sweetheart.”

Kiyoomi is going to have to tell him after all this is over, that he’d rather not be called _sweetheart_ or _baby_ or my _precious little_ whatever it is, that he’s an adult-

“Spread your legs for me baby.” Kiyoomi flushes right down to his toes.

He spreads his legs wide and realizes he’s already hard again.

“You’re so pretty,” Atsumu breathes, settling in between his legs.

“You’ve told me,” Kiyoomi mutters embarrassed, and Atsumu smiles before covering his nipple with his hot, wet mouth. Kiyoomi lurches upwards, body too keyed up and sensitive, but Atsumu pins him in place and tugs at the other nipple, coaxing it to full hardness. His hand wraps around Kiyoomi’s cock and squeezes, and having just unwittingly came moments before, the skin of Atsumu’s hand feels too rough. Atsumu wipes the come and precome settled atop his stomach, his thighs and slathers them over his cock, and tugs, while nibbling around his areola. Kiyoomi whimpers as the sensation gets intense, ground shatteringly close and expects the pressure to die away like before, and then _remembers-_

He comes with a strangled cry, body almost bucking Atsumu clean off him but Atsumu strokes him through the aftershocks.

“That’s one,” he murmurs into Kiyoomi’s skin.

“Two,” Kiyoomi chokes out. “I c-came before.”

“This is still one, Omi kun. You’re going to give me two more, and if you’re a really good boy, you’ll give me three.”

“Three more?” Kiyoomi gasps out leaning forward on his elbows. “I can’t-I can’t do that-“

“You can,” Atsumu says soothingly.

He leans back on his knees and folds Kiyoomi’s knees to his chest, placing his weight on Kiyoomi’s legs, then reaches for the lube. Slathering it over his fingers, he chucks the bottle and Kiyoomi hears it land somewhere with a soft thump. Atsumu presses two fingers to his entrance and pushes in, Kiyoomi’s still loose, but this time Atsumu wastes no time, and fixates on rubbing that sweet tender spot inside him. Kiyoomi’s ass still hurts from being spanked and Atsumu’s coarse fingers parting his cheeks makes him relive the sensation, it _stings_ but deep inside him, the pressure is building again.

“No-“ he gasps scrambling and clawing at the sheets as Atsumu inserts a third finger and rocks his hand steadily. Kiyoomi can feel himself hardening, it’s a slow process but everything feels tingly and awfully sensitive inside him. He clenches around Atsumu’s fingers desperately, and Atsumu uses his free hand push Kiyoomi’s bended knee to the side as he keeps plunging into him.

“It hurts,” Kiyoomi mumbles sniffling and thrashing his head. Atsumu is relentless, he probes and presses, never fumbling and always hitting him right on, milking his prostate for all its worth.

“Come on baby, you’ve got this, come for me.” And that’s all it takes. Kiyoomi comes with a scream as his orgasm rips out of him untouched, come spurts over his stomach, and some of it catches on Atsumu’s lips but he swipes his tongue over it as if it’s no big deal at all.

“I can’t anymore,” Kiyoomi begs, “it hurts, Atsumu it _hurts_.”

“You can do this,” Atsumu coos stroking his thighs, “now get on all fours.”

Kiyoomi can barely muster the strength to move but Atsumu helps his roll over. He’s not hard at all, and his cock aches as it grazes the bed sheets, there’s nothing pleasurable about this-

Kiyoomi buries his face in the sheets, and waits ass held up in the air. But what he doesn’t expect is Atsumu’s tongue to lap at him slowly. He lurches forward in shock, and covers his hole, with his hand, palm up.

“N-no,” he mumbles.

“Take your hand off Kiyoomi,” Atsumu nudges but Kiyoomi shakes his head urgently.

“I’m dirty,” he sniffles. “D-don’t. I cant.”

“You’re not dirty,” Atsumu says patiently. “let me show you.”

A sob breaks its way from Kiyoomi’s throat as he groans into the sheets and repeats, “it’s dirty, _don’t_ , _please…”_

There’s silence save for the rankling sobs breaking free from Kiyoomi’s chest, and then Atsumu strokes his back gently.

“Okay, I understand, it’s okay…”

Atsumu presses his chest to Kiyoomi’s back and reaches around him to grab his limp cock, and Kiyoomi screams.

“Too much, too much,” he says through choked gasps, and Atsumu hushes him softly, kissing his nape and murmuring words that soak through Kiyoomi’s skin but don’t quite register in his brain.

Kiyoomi winces in overstimulation as Atsumu tries to work him into full hardness again, he grips and tugs at the sheets. Atsumu reaches over to tug at his nipples, to pull and gently rub the peaks over and over. He fumbles at the sheet for the lube again and squeezes a dollop into his palm before grabbing Kiyoomi’s cock and tugging at it, not all too gently either. Kiyoomi squirms and mewls as Atsumu works his body, there’s no escape from Atsumu’s punishing hands and there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here-

Atsumu bites at his shoulder and the sensation is so sudden that Kiyoomi’s arms give way and he falls face first into the sheets. Atsumu rolls him over and plants a kiss on his lips before making his way down his body and swallowing him whole.

Tears drip steadily down the side of Kiyoomi’s face and he hiccups as Atsumu swallows around his cock, squeezes at the base and pulls off to run a hot tongue over his tip. He lets his saliva drip onto Kiyoomi’s tip before taking him in again, and bobs his head.

The pain and pleasure start to mingle as Kiyoomi reaches down and grips Atsumu’s hair and bucks his hips weakly. When he comes, Atsumu doesn’t even struggle to swallow, there’s so very little dribbling out of his cock, it’s a wonder there’s any left. It feels like Kiyoomi’s entire soul is being drained out of his body right into Atsumu, as if he’s sucking the life right out of him and yet Kiyoomi goes willingly every time. 

Kiyoomi covers his face with his arms and waits, there’s one more to go and he’s not sure how he’s going to survive it.

And then he hears the telltale crinkle of a packet being opened. His eyes fly open to see Atsumu _finally_ shed his trousers and the sight of him makes his mouth go dry. Atsumu had always been big, but today he looks gigantic.

“It won’t fit,” he whispers mostly to himself but Atsumu hears it anyway, and smiles.

“You’ve been stretched out a lot, don’t worry you’ll be fine.”

But he won't be fine, Kiyoomi realizes in horror as Atsumu voices out his concern almost as if he’d read his mind.

“I won’t come until you do Kiyoomi, so you better hurry up, I’m all pent up.” He watches Atsumu slather his cock with lube, wincing at the sensation; he might’ve been suffering too, just watching in the sidelines.

Kiyoomi can barely move but Atsumu takes care of that by shifting him to the headboard and raising him onto his knees. He lifts Kiyoomi’s hands and places them on the ledge and closes his own over them.

“Breathe,” he whispers and Kiyoomi draws a deep, ragged breath, as Atsumu bends him slightly, and parts his ass cheeks, lining himself up with Kiyoomi’s entrance.

Atsumu pushes in with little resistance and fills Kiyoomi up to the brim. Kiyoomi leans his head to the wall and lets out a garbled moan, he feels so fucking full. His legs shake with the effort to hold himself upright, they’re on the verge of giving away, but Atsumu wraps a strong muscled arm around his waist and pulls him flush onto his body.

If Kiyoomi had assumed that Atsumu would be gentle, he’d been wrong. Atsumu thrusts deep and harsh, and pulls out almost immediately as Kiyoomi cries out, but his walls clench around Atsumu’s cock, clinging wetly. Atsumu’s cock scrapes painfully against his abused walls, and he sets off a punishing pace on the get go.

“I stretched you so much but you’re still so fucking tight,” he grits out at Kiyoomi’s ear, “You’re so fucking perfect, I wish you could see your hole, you’re so fucking greedy”

Kiyoomi moans and shies away from the sensation instinctively, his insides are worn out- he’s not going to survive this, it stings inside him and yet Atsumu keeps hitting that spot over and over again even though his body protests and creaks and breaks.

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi cries out, “Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu!”

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu grits out, Kiyoomi can feel the sweat on his brow, can feel Atsumu’s poorly repressed groans against his nape and remembers that Atsumu had promised that he’d come only if Kiyoomi did.

Kiyoomi reaches down to pinch his own nipples and whimpers at the sting, but relentlessly pulls while simultaneously rutting back at Atsumu’s cock. There’s a tightening pressure building in him again, if only he could tap it-

Atsumu doesn’t touch his cock, and Kiyoomi isn’t sure if he’s grateful or not, he knows it would hurt for sure but it would also hurtle him towards release. It feels like he’s on the edge but he can’t reach it, he needs something to push him over the cliff-

Atsumu hooks an arm around Kiyoomi’s leg and lifts it to the side, a right angle to his body, and fucks upwards.

Kiyoomi’s body lurches forward and he lets out a strangled moan as he clenches _hard_ around Atsumu’s cock, and collapses forward. Atsumu catches him before he hits his head but Kiyoomi realizes with horror-

“There’s n-no come but I did- Atsumu I came, I did, I really did-“

“Shh yes, I know Omi. You came dry, that was dry orgasm. You did well, I’m proud of you.”

Kiyoomi could cry with relief but then Atsumu punches the breath right out of him with his erratic thrusts; one, two and then he empties into the condom and Kiyoomi feels the vibration all over his body. Atsumu gasps as each wave of his orgasm hits him, and Kiyoomi leans back against him, too tired to do much else.

When Atsumu slides out of him, Kiyoomi winces and Atsumu lays him down on the bed, thankfully away from the mess they'd made.

Kiyoomi breathes, trying to steady himself. He can’t quite believe the day they’d had, it feels wholly unreal.

Atsumu lowers himself and strokes Kiyoomi’s hair.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” Kiyoomi croaks back. Atsumu stoops low to pick his boxers and put them on. The embarrassment is creeping back in, but Atsumu doesn’t give him time to hide himself. Instead he lifts Kiyoomi into his arms and leads him to the bathroom. He fills the tub with warm water, and sets Kiyoomi in it, kneeling outside the tub with his head resting in his folded arms.

“You were amazing,” he says quietly, and Kiyoomi isn’t sure what expression he should be making so he resorts to hiding his face behind his knees. Kiyoomi squirms as his tender, bruised ass rubs on the marble igniting the nerves there. “You were incredible,” Atsumu stresses out. “And so very sexy.”

He pauses before saying in a way that’s far too casual, “you’re so amazing, I can’t imagine being with anyone else. Sometimes.” The ensuing silence is an odd one, where neither of them are willing to admit the gravity of what Atsumu just uttered, and with each passing second, it only becomes more pronounced.

Atsumu stands up abruptly, and asks Kiyoomi where to get new sheets. Kiyoomi points him in the right direction and Atsumu zips off wordlessly. In the silence, Kiyoomi turns the words around in his head.

When Atsumu returns, he squeezes some shampoo into his hand and rubs it in soothing patterns into Kiyoomi’s scalp, massaging him softly, applying just the right amount of pressure. He washes it off, and reaches for the body wash and scrub, before lathering it on Kiyoomi’s body, using one hand to rub away all the dirt sticking to his skin. Carefully. Meticulously. Atsumu lifts Kiyoomi’s trembling arms and wipes under his armpits and the sides of his chest, and then runs a hand over his pectorals, over the bites and nipples swollen red. He lifts Kiyoomi and reaches under him to lift him to his knees and massages the tender flesh of his ass, reaching in between to wipe off the stickiness and running a coarse hand over the swollen, bruised skin.

“I like that my fingerprints are here,” he mumbles and Kiyoomi looks up to meet his gaze.

“Do you?” Atsumu asks, not quite meeting his eyes. Kiyoomi doesn’t say a word. Atsumu’s behavior is confusing.

“Did you like what we did today?” Atsumu asks and Kiyoomi’s had enough. He yanks Atsumu towards him and crashes their lips together. Though the initial motion had been aggressive, their kiss is slow, languid, reassuring. Kiyoomi buries his head in Atsumu’s neck and mumbles a quiet “I loved it.”

It’s embarrassing to admit the fact that Atsumu telling him what to do may be his biggest turn on, but Atsumu already knows so Kiyoomi might as well reap the benefits.

“You’re amazing,” he hears Atsumu say, and he sounds a little awestruck.

After toweling his hair and kneeling on the wet bathroom floor to wipe Kiyoomi’s legs, Atsumu hooks a hand around his legs and carries Kiyoomi to his bed. He makes sure to maintain as minimum contact as possible before rushing off to grab his own shower, promising Kiyoomi that he won’t be in too long. He’s good as his word, he comes out hair damp and legs trickling with water barely five minutes later, and slides into the bed by Kiyoomi’s side. Kiyoomi is barely holding on, he knows that it’s only a matter of time before he drifts off for quite possibly a very long time, but he still pries his eyes open to accept Atsumu’s lingering kiss. Atsumu kisses the moles on his forehead almost reverently, and softly rolls Kiyoomi onto his stomach.

Kiyoomi feels his pajama pants being tucked under his ass, and a cold gel being smeared over his cheeks. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, he knows Atsumu is very adamant about this, and only settles into the sensation of Atsumu rubbing and massaging him. His hands move to Kiyoomi’s shoulders and he works the tension out of them, eases the knots and continues his journey southward. Kiyoomi feels Atsumu’s lips pressing against every place his hands touch and realizes it’s almost like Atsumu’s worshipping him, offering him prayer. Sometimes, Atsumu makes him feel like a God.

Atsumu’s not done when Kiyoomi drifts off into blissful sleep.

He wakes up in pain, only to see Atsumu curled up on the couch. The lights of his bedside lamp are dim but Kiyoomi can still see the silhouette. Atsumu’s large frame makes the couch look huge. Kiyoomi’s bed is huge.

He tries to get up but falls on his front, hissing in pain.

Atsumu jerks awake, and squints, before getting to his feet and disappearing from Kiyoomi’s line of sight.

He returns with ibuprofen and a glass of water.

“Drink,” he urges, voice groggy and eyes drooping. Kiyoomi downs it in one go and leans back, to see Atsumu appearing from the bathroom with a basin full of scalding water and a towel.

He dips the towel into the water and hisses, dropping it into the basin again, but grits his teeth and fishes it out, squeezing the water into the basin. He bounces the cloth in his hands, once, twice, before lowering Kiyoomi’s pajama pants and massaging him softly. Atsumu yawns and Kiyoomi feels his heart squeeze in his chest, but says nothing and allows Atsumu to continue his administrations. It feels like hours when he finally stops. Kiyoomi can’t bear the feeling in his chest at the sight of it.

“How’re you feeling?” Atsumu asks, voice hoarse.

“Better,” Kiyoomi admits.

Atsumu smiles and pulls Kiyoomi’s pants up again before turning to head to the couch-

Kiyoomi wraps his fingers around his wrist and pulls, and Atsumu stumbles with a gasp almost tripping into the basin of now, cold water.

“What was that for?” he hisses angrily.

“You stayed,” Kiyoomi says. Atsumu blinks.

“Of course I did, who else would you call when you’re in pain?”

Kiyoomi knows what he means but the phrasing makes it seem far more intimate than it actually is and he’s thankful the lights are dim.

“Sleep with me.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes and opens his mouth-

“I meant, sleep in this bed. Its probably uncomfortable on the couch.”

Atsumu blinks, and lifts a hand to his nape.

“Really? Y-you don’t mind?”

“Get in here before I change my mind,” Kiyoomi grits out. “There’s an extra pillow in the cupboard.”

Atsumu grabs the pillow and slides into bed beside him. For a second neither of them breathe, Kiyoomi finds the sudden need to synchronize his breathing to Atsumu’s but then Atsumu turns on his side facing Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi turns facing away from him. It’s difficult, watching the moonlight creeping through the windows illuminate Atsumu in a truly ethereal light. Kiyoomi can’t look at him.

Kiyoomi’s still awake an hour later when Atsumu moves closer to him, almost sharing his body heat, and places a tentative hand on his hip. Kiyoomi’s still awake when Atsumu’s rapid breathing and heart beat ease out, and he lets out little snores, his arm slung securely over Kiyoomi’s waist.

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning. And yes they fall in love and it's very messy.  
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> (You can find me on Twitter @arrylikestodraw)
> 
> Edit: Hey guys, I've made some edits along the way on realizing that Kiyoomi crying out "no" or "don't" (when they're not using safewords) may understandably be interpreted as dubious consent or non con. I've made the necessary adjustments because that's not what the fic is about at all.


End file.
